Peaches
by Broken-Vow
Summary: There is another girl in Erik's life, and Christine can only blame herself.
1. Chapter 1

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Hey everyone!

****This idea really came about a few months ago. I was looking over my stories and realized that children have never been the focus of any of them. The focus has always been the EC relationship. So I wanted to try a story that was really just about Erik as a father and Christine as a mother. It was written very quickly, so take it as you will. I hope you enjoy, and I also hope you review!

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_Peaches_

Mia really was an accident.

There was no other way to describe it.

Before their marriage, Erik had assured Christine a hundred times over that he was incapable of producing children. They basked in newlywed bliss for nearly eight months before the news.

It shattered Erik and overjoyed Christine. When she asked him why he was so upset, he snapped irritably,

"Do you think I married you so I would have to _share _you with a snot-faced brat?"

It made her laugh, and she assured him that any children of theirs would never be brats, and they certainly wouldn't be snot-faced.

"That's right," Erik said gloomily one evening. "Because it won't have a nose."

It was a chilling prospect, but Christine wouldn't let it upset her. Before her marriage, she had resolved to herself that she would never be a mother if she married Erik, but the chance was here at last; she seized it with full gusto. She read pregnancy books, ate only the best foods, and she even announced her plans to step down from the stage for at least ten years.

_Ten years? _the world howled. _Why ten years_?

Even Erik was upset by the news. All of their hard work was going to waste, he told her.

"I want to be a mother first," she said. She would not back down on the issue. "My career will always come second."

When the news of the famous opera singer's pregnancy was discovered, the press hounded her mercilessly, trying to discover the identity of her mysterious and obviously reclusive husband. Erik, alarmed, seized her and moved far away into a pretty house in a quaint little town. Christine soon fell in love with the house and the area and decided she never wanted to move away again.

It was a good town for them, full of the things they needed. It also had a private, expensive hospital that Christine went to for her regular checkups. She was able to hear the heartbeat in her belly and spent nearly an hour that night describing it to Erik, who said curtly, "I know what a heartbeat sounds like, thank you very much." But he kept a firm hand on her stomach that night, as if willing himself to feel it as well.

"It's a boy," Christine announced one morning. She was busy eating a peach at the kitchen table. Erik looked at her from over his newspaper. His cat, Ayesha, was curled up beside him, purring contentedly.

"Is it now?"

"Yes," she said confidently, returning to her fruit.

"It's too early to tell with an ultrasound, though," Erik said. Despite his standoffish behavior toward her pregnancy, one morning he suddenly knew everything there was to know about the months ahead.

"Oh, I know. Call it mother's intuition."

He raised an eyebrow at her. "All right."

She went in excitedly for her appointment, shivering pleasantly at the sticky goo they spread on her little belly, and she smiled as the image came up on the tiny screen.

"There's your baby, Mrs. Vautour," said the pretty ultrasound technician. "Do you want to know the sex? You're far enough along that we can tell."

"Yes, please," she said eagerly, smugly.

There was silence as the technician moved the little machine over her stomach. She peered at the screen for a minute. Christine looked too, though she really couldn't tell what was there. It was only when the ultrasound technicians would outline her baby that she could see it—other than that, it was nothing but a blurry image of blacks and grays and whites. Finally the technician spoke.

"A girl."

Christine's heart did a little jump.

"What?"

"It's a girl. Congratulations! She looks perfect, everything looks fine."

"I—um—can you check again, please?"

The technician frowned a little but did as requested.

"Yeah, it's definitely a girl. Is something wrong?"

"No, no, it's fine…I just…It's fine."

She went home, shocked. Somehow the vision of a little boy had fixed itself in her mind, and it was not easy to transform into a girl. She had spent hours daydreaming about it, a little boy she could love and scold, a boy to build genius structures with blocks and a boy to grow up and be tall and strong. She tried not to think it, but the word _disappointed _hissed through her head as she walked inside. _A girl_, she told herself firmly. _You will love your girl._ All the boy names she had been musing on slipped from her brain, and she drew a blank as she considered girl names.

Erik appeared as she hung up her coat in the closet.

"Well, Mrs. Mother's Intuition?"

Christine glared. "Shut up."

He smirked at her.

* * *

It was the middle of the night, and Christine crept into Erik's study, heading over to his desk and rifling through his drawers, taking great care not to knock things around with her belly. She had thought long and hard, and it was the only plan she could think of.

Erik always tried to be well-meaning, but sometimes—well, he wasn't. He worked himself into frenzies over normal things.

And Christine was sure that labor was going to be those normal things that he went crazy over.

She didn't want her masked husband terrorizing the doctors and nurses; she didn't want him throwing things out of frustration or demanding that Christine's pain be stopped in any way possible. She considered for a second of politely asking him to stay home while she was in labor, but she actually laughed out loud at the idea.

Finally, she flipped through some papers and found was she was looking for. Carefully memorizing the number, she left the room and slipped back into bed, snuggling beside Erik, who was snoring softly.

She made the call the very next day, getting away from the house by claiming that she was going to go look at some baby things at the store. Quickly, she pulled out her cell phone and dialed. It rang, and she hoped fervently.

"_Hello?"_

A tired-sounding older man with a slight accent answered it.

"Hello? Nadir Khan?"

"_Yes…Who is this?"_

"It's Christine."

There was silence. Feeling a little nervous, Christine said,

"Christine Daae—I mean, Christine Vautour." It was Erik's pretend surname, strictly for marriage and performance purposes. He said he actually didn't really know his real surname, for his mother had never told him. Christine had never thought to press him.

"_Yes, I know. Excuse me, I'm just—trying to get my bearings, I suppose. Christine…Christine Vautour._ _Yes. All right. May I help you with something?"_

"Actually, you can, if you're willing."

"_And what is it?"_

"It's about Erik."

"_What? Erik? Is he all right? Has he done something to you?"_

"No! Well, yes, actually." Christine laughed. "I'm pregnant."

Again, silence. Then Nadir Khan cleared his throat.

Christine suddenly felt extremely stupid. She had only met Nadir Khan once or twice. Erik had always called him 'old friend,' but, then again, Erik was always a bit cynical. _Was _Nadir Khan actually Erik's friend? Or was he simply someone that Erik knew from long ago?

"_Congratulations, then," _Nadir said stiffly.

"Thank you, we're very excited," Christine gushed, unable to help herself. There were so few people that she could say this to that she was willing to say it to someone she hardly knew.

"_So what would you like me to do?" _he pressed.

"Oh—yes, sorry." She blushed and was glad that they were talking on the phone. "Anyway, I'm not due for another two months, but I've been thinking about it…And I realized that it's going to be really…hard for Erik when I'm in labor."

"_I'd imagine it would be_," Nadir said.

"Obviously _I _can't be there to help and control him. I wish I could, but I'm going to be a little busy. I know it's really impertinent of me to ask—probably downright rude—but if you would please…if you could, I'll give you my due date…if you wouldn't mind…"

"_You want me to come over and control him while you give birth?" _

It sounded terrible spoken out loud. "Yeah," she whispered. Her blush deepened, and she said quickly, "You'd be welcome to stay with us; you don't need to buy a hotel room. I can pay for any plane tickets or gas money. Really, it's at no monetary expense to you. Erik says you're his oldest friend; he wouldn't let anyone else do that to him. Please…?"

"_I—well…" _She could tell he was thinking quickly. "_If I come, I make no promises," _he said quickly. "_I'll do my best, but I'm sure you know that Erik really can't be controlled by anyone. If he wants to terrorize everyone in that hospital, he's going to."_

"I know," Christine said. "I think he'll be fine, he just needs a little help. And of course you two wouldn't be in the same room. Just sit him out in the lobby and let him rip up some magazines or something. And be far enough away that he can't hear anything."

She heard him sigh. "_When is your due date, Mrs. Vautour?"_

__

_

* * *

_

Christine had read extensively about labor and tried to prepare herself for the pain.

But no number of books could prepare her for it.

Even with the epidural, she screamed and cried and wailed for hours, clutching the sheets between her white knuckles, groaning through the pain coursing through every inch of her body, inside and out.

It wasn't so bad at the beginning. She had been at home when it started, and Erik drove her to the hospital, his knuckles ghostly white as they tightly gripped the steering wheel. Christine was actually feeling all right. She was able to hobble inside the hospital, and they wheeled her away to a room, where she was hooked up to a bunch of machines and told to breathe for a while. Erik sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand. The nurses looked alarmed by him, but they made no comment as they bustled in and out occasionally, checking numbers and such.

"I'm fine, Erik," she kept telling him. "Really. I feel fine."

The room had been decorated a little for the holiday season; a tiny plastic Christmas tree was on the bedside table, and an ugly wreath hung on the door. Erik glowered at it all and remarked on the poor taste of the hospital. Christine, smiling a little, murmured her agreement.

But inside her heart was racing. _Where was Nadir Khan?_

Her due date had been bumped up just a little, three weeks before Christmas, and she had made sure he was aware. Still, she kept staring at the door, willing him to come.

"What are you looking at?" Erik asked, turning to glance at the door. A doctor and nurse rushed past, but that was it.

"Nothing," she said hurriedly. "I'm just wondering where Nadir is."

She knew Erik wouldn't believe Nadir Khan just happening to be in the same hospital at the same time that they were, especially considering he lived several hours away. Christine had persuaded Erik to allow him to come, saying she would need extra help over the next few weeks with Christmas coming up, and that Nadir was one of the only people Erik tolerated, and that it would be much easier for everyone if he came. Besides, someone needed to feed Ayesha while they were at the hospital.

"He's always late to everything," Erik said, turning to look at her. "You don't look well," he continued instantly. "You're pale."

She rolled her eyes. "Erik, I'm about to have a baby. I don't think I'm going to be looking that good for a few days, at least. Sorry. Ouch!"

A sharp pain bit its way through her, and she winced. Immediately, Erik's hand tightened on hers. A brief flutter of panic went to her heart, but before they could say anything, someone said,

"I'm sorry I'm late. This hospital is a maze, you know."

They both turned to see Nadir Khan, looking tired already. Christine smiled warmly, and Erik inclined his head just a little. Nadir took each of their greetings with good graces and came a little closer.

"Feeling all right?" he asked Christine kindly. "You look well."

Another few shots up of pain went up her, and again she shouted, "Ouch! Ouch!"

"Should I get someone?" Erik asked anxiously. "You're in pain—I'll go find the doctor."

Christine didn't let go of his hand. "Erik, please, sit down. Ouch! It's fine. I think they're just the—ouch!—contractions coming. It's normal. Ouch!"

He looked suspicious but did as she asked. She kept a firm grip on his hand. A dull ache was beginning to spread from her stomach to her mid-thighs, but she tried to keep pained expressions away from her face. Nadir kept conversation flowing between them, seeming unusually cheerful. Christine was grateful for it, but Erik didn't seem to be listening; he was staring at her intently.

Finally, _finally_, a bed was wheeled in, and a nurse said,

"All right, Mrs. Vautour, we're going to take you to the L&D now. Everything on your chart is normal. You're doing fine."

Awkwardly, she was shifted into the bed. She pressed Erik's large hand to her lips, gave a meaningful glance to Nadir, and let herself be wheeled out of the room. She heard Nadir saying,

"Erik, old man, why don't we go see if we can round up some eggnog and then—"

The door shut before she could hear anything else.

Even for a while after that, she felt a little smug. It hurt, yes, but it wasn't anything she couldn't handle. She'd let out occasional gasps or yelps at a sharp jab, but she was feeling pretty good. She was just considering calling a nurse to go find her husband and bring him. But then the pain started coming, worse and worse, and soon it was tears out of her eyes and long moans. The pain throbbed through her, leaving nothing untouched. She started screaming soon, but no one tried to stop her. She just screamed and screamed. She could not comprehend the idea that many women did this several times. Once seemed enough to kill anyone.

She was terrified at the same time. Surely there shouldn't be _so _much pain! Something was going wrong—something terrible was happening, even though the doctor kept reassuring her that everything was going perfectly and that she was doing an excellent job.

"I just need you to push," he kept saying.

"What do you think I'm doing?" she shrieked at him. He smiled a little at her, and it enraged her.

When it was all over, she gave an exhausted sob and slumped back onto the pillows. It was hard to keep breathing. Every inch of her was still in pain and was now shutting down with fatigue. A nurse came over and gently dabbed at her sweat-drenched forehead.

"You did wonderfully, Mrs. Vautour," she said kindly.

Christine stared at her incredulously. Apparently the nurse was too used to this to care, because she merely smiled at her and left.

A few moments later, they brought the shrieking infant over to Christine.

"You have a beautiful daughter," the doctor said, placing her into Christine's trembling arms. Christine stared down at the thing that had been inside her for the past nine months. It was small and pinched and completely red, its mouth wide open and screaming. After a few minutes they took her away and cleaned her up a little more before wrapping her in a soft pink blanket and returning her to Christine.

Christine began to cry, furthering her emotional and physical exhaustion. Her baby was nestled against her, kept warm by Christine's hot skin. It was a tender, exquisite moment that she had never before thought she would experience. She smiled at the squirming, whimpering infant before closing her eyes.

She hadn't realized she fell asleep until she woke up sometime later. She was in a different room again, and it worried her. Even so, she suddenly felt ten times better, and she looked around. A nurse was there, scribbling some things down on a chart.

"Where is she?" Christine demanded.

The nurse smiled, set down the chart, and brought Christine the baby. She was asleep, her cherry-red features relaxed. All of the slime had been wiped off, and she had pitch-black hair. Christine felt it softly. It was like peach fuzz.

"How long has she been asleep? How long have I been asleep?"

"You've been asleep about twenty minutes," the nurse said, picking up her clipboard. "Your daughter fell asleep only five minutes ago."

Christine stared at the infant. Another nurse entered and said, "Excuse me, Mrs. Vautour. Your—um—your husband is very—anxious. Can I let him in or…?"

"Oh yes!" Christine looked up immediately. "Please, please let him in."

Erik was allowed inside. He rushed to Christine's side and looked at her anxiously, putting his hands on her forehead and peering into her eyes. He looked alarmed.

"Do you need anything?" he asked urgently. "What is it you need?"

Christine's eyes were heavy again, and she said, "Just look at your daughter, Erik…"

He finally dragged his eyes to the bundle in her arms, and she saw a flurry of emotion in his eyes. There was a deep silence for a few minutes.

"Is it…supposed to look like that?" he finally whispered. "So…ugly?"

"All babies look like this when they are born!" Christine said, managing a little smile.

He nodded solemnly and stared at the newborn. "But look at that, Christine," he said. "A nose, full cheeks, clear, distinguished features: she is perfect."

Christine smiled, closed her eyes, and was again asleep instantly.

* * *

There was no way she could open her eyes. She pulled herself into consciousness, but her eyelids were weighed down, unable to move. She tried to make a sound, but nothing came from her throat. Sounds came to her ears: a soft, rhythmic beeping; the occasional rustle of distant footsteps; a telephone ringing; and her own deep breathing and pounding heart.

After supreme effort she managed to grunt out something like, "_Mmhrr?"_

A _creak _sounded, and she felt her hand being taken by something hard and cold.

"Christine?" a voice whispered.

She knew that voice well. It gave her strength, and she finally cracked her eyes open.

A yellow light shone from the corner, illuminating the little hospital room. It was obviously very late, but Christine could discern large white snowflakes steadily falling outside the window. Her husband peered at her anxiously, holding her hand and running his fingers down her cheek.

"How are you? How do you feel?" he asked.

Christine looked around again. "Where is she?" she asked immediately. "Where is she? Where did they take her?" She made to sit up and look, but Erik sat down and pushed her back.

"Calm," he said soothingly. "She's being injected, examined, pricked and wiped down."

It sounded terrible when he said it like that, and Christine's brow creased with frantic worry. Erik looked around, raised his mask just a little, and pressed his soft lips to the crease on her forehead.

"What are you talking about?" she whispered. Her voice was tired and sore from all of the screaming and crying she had done. He took a glass of cool water from the bedside table and helped her manage a few gulps. As she was choking it down, he said,

"Someone assured me it was routine—vaccinations and such to prevent future problems and tests to see if she has anything wrong with her right now. I'm quite sure you know that I wouldn't have let just _anyone _take your child."

He took the glass away and set it back down on the table.

"She'll be back soon, won't she? Oh, Erik, did you see her? She's perfect. She's beautiful. Did you hold her? Our daughter, Erik!" She was grinning ear to ear. "It's…this is the happiest I've ever felt."

She waited for him to respond with something similar, but he was silent and looked at the window, his eyes blank. The silence between them was unbearable to Christine, who gently squeezed his fingers, trying to get some response out of him. He then pressed her hand to his mask, and she felt his mouth under it. He was not smiling.

"Is something wrong?" Christine said. "Erik?"

There was another silence, and he suddenly shut his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. Christine could feel the heat on her palm.

"You cannot understand," he said softly into her hand. "You always knew—you always knew that you would be a mother someday. You cannot possibly imagine…what this feels like to me."

"Tell me," she coaxed.

Slowly, his eyes opened, and he looked at her. "I'm terrified," he whispered. "But happier than I have ever been in my wretched life."

She smiled again, and, slowly, she felt his mouth curve into a smile to match.

* * *

Caring for a baby was a _lot _of work, as Christine found out within a week of their return to the house. And the older her daughter got, the more work it was. While she was still just a newborn, she woke to eat and then went back to sleep. It was a simple but necessary routine. However, she grew and began demanding more. There was less sleeping and more crying, more screams for attention.

But for every shriek, there was a beautiful moment of bonding between Christine and her daughter. (After consulting book after book, she had decided on the name Damiana; Erik said he couldn't care less what she was called, which hurt Christine's feelings slightly.)

"Mia," Christine cooed at her, watching her flex her tiny fingers; Mia had just discovered them a few days ago and was fascinated. "Mia, my love…"

The baby gurgled happily, her face scrunched up with pleasure as she continued to waggle her fingers.

"You have ten fingers, Mia," Christine sang, and she counted them out on her daughter's hand. "Look, right here…"

"She doesn't understand you."

Erik was watching the scene, looking amused.

"I know," Christine said, glancing at him and then returning to the baby. "But it's good to talk to her. I've read that it helps a lot just to baby-talk her and give her attention. She can focus on my face now. Come try it. She's so cute!"

She shifted over, but Erik didn't move, still watching with an eyebrow raised.

"Your Papa is grouchy," Christine cooed to Mia, who was looking at Christine fully. "He's just a mean old man who's afraid of you! But why should he be? You're so precious, baby. Aww…"

"Stop it!" Erik snapped. "You're making me sick."

"Go away, then," Christine said, not even bothering to look at him. "Go be a grouch somewhere else. You're not going to ruin this for me. I'm having fun."

He _hmmphed _angrily but didn't move. A short while later, Ayesha crept into the room. She lightly jumped onto the windowsill that was next to the bassinet, and the Siamese cat peered into it interestedly.

"Look, a kitty!" Christine said. "Look, Mia. Isn't she pretty?"

Mia screamed in surprise when she saw, which alarmed Ayesha, and she jumped off and ran to Erik, kneading her claws on the hem of his pants, looking for reassurance that this new threatening presence—another thing that Erik would pay attention to besides Ayesha—would not stay long.

Christine laughed, and when she looked, she saw that the corners of Erik's thin mouth twitched.

Whenever baby milestones started happening, Christine was overjoyed. It seemed that her daughter was perfectly normal. She smiled when Christine's baby book said most babies started smiling. Mia began to be able to support herself more at the appropriate time. She slept the average amount of hours at night (though both Christine and Erik agreed that the average was still too few). She began to eat more solid foods when appropriate—her favorite thing was mashed peaches.

And through this all, Erik opened up a little more every day. He was less averse to holding her and touching her. There was an obvious upswing in interest over what she did every day. And when she was old enough, he played for her and sang to her.

But when she started teething, it was a difficult matter entirely. She wailed at all hours of the day and night, and there was little Christine could do about it. She tried to soothe the pain by giving Mia food like carrots or letting her gnaw on things, but Mia didn't want them. The thing she liked to chew on most was Erik's fingers. Christine did not like it.

Erik would bounce Mia soothingly on his bony knee, and she would grasp his large hands, putting one of his long, white fingers to her mouth. She would then chew steadily, drooling all over his hands. Erik never pulled away, not even when some of her teeth grew in and it was obviously painful. More often than not, her little sharp teeth would break his thin skin. He would patiently pull his bloody finger away and give her another one. Christine nearly cried once when he had to say no to her requested piano concert; his fingers hurt too badly.

"I don't want you to do this anymore," she said, looking at his raw fingers. She kissed them softly.

But she found him the next day in the bathroom, rinsing off the blood from his new wounds.

"She was crying," he said simply, as if that settled it. He hated hearing her cry. And so the matter went on until she had her teeth.

But each night—whether the day had been good or bad—Christine was able to curl up next to Erik and feel loved and protected. She would smile at the thought of her little family and grasp Erik's hand steadily, knowing that he had given her her greatest joys.

And as she began drifting off to sleep, one of her 'greatest joys' wailed loudly from the other room.

Erik pushed her slightly and said, his voice drowsy, "It's your turn."


	2. Chapter 2

Christine's possibly least favorite thing to do was go grocery shopping. She did it rarely because of how much it irritated her. However, whenever they were out of peaches, she was off to the store again, three year-old Damiana in tow. (After they had decided on a name, Christine had pointed out to her husband that it was C-D-E, for Christine, Damiana, and Erik, just like in the alphabet, and that it was very sweet; Erik walked away, muttering something that suspiciously sounded like, "Women.") And wherever Mia went, her doll came with her.

Erik had snarled and growled when Christine presented Mia with her very first Barbie doll. Erik called them 'disgusting' and 'unrealistic' and said that they 'raised false expectations,' but Mia was enthusiastic over the present. It was some kind of Princess Barbie in a huge, ugly pink gown. Mia immediately christened the doll _Tanie—_neither Erik nor Christine knew where she heard such a word, leaving them to suspect she had made it up—and fell in love. Tanie followed them to the store every time, sometimes dressed as a cheerleader, sometimes as a swimmer, sometimes as a disco dancer. Over the months, other dolls had joined Tanie, but none of them had been allowed to follow Mia and her parents yet.

"Come on, Mia. Let's go." Christine unbuckled the car seat and helped Mia climb out. "No, you can leave Tanie here, she doesn't need to come inside the store with us."

"But I want her to!" Mia shrieked, clutching the Barbie tightly. Christine sighed and gave in to her daughter yet again. She put Mia in the uncomfortable little child's seat in the shopping cart and began, sighing as she strolled along the aisles.

"One day, your father will do this," she mumbled, looking over the price of milk. "And _I _can stay home and listen to music."

It was especially worse because Christmas was a few short weeks away. Holiday shoppers bustled past, mothers gabbing, their carts full of toys, hassled-looking fathers toting around screaming toddlers, obviously looking for something suitable for the mothers of such children. As Christine had a very small list of people she bought presents for, her shopping had been done a long time ago, and she was simply left to struggle through the crowd and try to get groceries.

"_Maman, _Tanie needs a new dress," Mia said as soon as she caught sight of the toy section.

"Later, if you're a good girl and behave," Christine said. She wrinkled her nose at the microwave meals and passed by the frozen foods aisle. Mia immediately began to talk to her doll, waving it around as they strolled up and down the aisles. A little boy in a passing cart screamed in reply, and his mother shushed him distractedly, pulling down boxes of candy canes.

As Christine was picking out ripe peaches—still Mia's favorite food—, she glanced over to see a couple holding hands, giggling over something. And when the man turned to say something to the woman, Christine paled and forced her gaze back to the peaches. Her hands began to tremble. What were the chances that he was back in the city, that he could come to the exact same supermarket at the exact same time and be in the exact same section as she and her daughter?

Their giggling drew nearer, and Christine hoped, but—

"Christine? Is that you?"

She turned around and feigned surprise.

"Raoul!" she said, smiling. "I can't believe you're here."

He looked exactly the same—tall, slim athletic build, and positively gorgeous. He was smiling at her with that smile that she loved.

"What a coincidence, right?" he laughed. "Small world."

"Yeah," she agreed blankly.

"It's great to see you again," Raoul continued. "I read about you all the time. Famous singer and all. But it's been—what, four, five years since you've sung last? I heard you decided to take a ten-year break, but I never heard why. Oh! This is Danielle. She is your biggest fan." The pretty blonde woman next to Raoul smiled nervously, shyly. "We're engaged, actually," Raoul said.

Christine blinked. "Congratulations," she said.

Mia chose that moment to let out a happy shriek of laughter as she played with her doll, and the attention immediately went to her. Christine saw Raoul's eyes widen. When Mia saw all the stares, she quieted instantly and hugged her Barbie close to her thin little chest.

"This is my…my daughter," Christine said. She felt unable to focus; it was all so surreal.

"She looks sweet," Raoul's fiancée offered politely.

"She is," Christine said, glancing at Mia, who stared back and forth at Raoul and the blonde woman.

"I don't like you," Mia suddenly said rudely, still clutching her Barbie.

"How dare you say that to him?" Christine snapped instantly. "Really, Raoul, I'm very sorry…"

He was trying to laugh about it. "She's just like her father, Christine—you can't deny that."

"I'm afraid in more ways than one," Christine said, a blush ransacking her cheeks. "Well, it was wonderful to see you again, Raoul. I suppose—I—uh…"

"We have to go," Raoul cut in smoothly, saving her yet again. "Danielle and I have dinner reservations."

"Yes," Christine said gratefully. "Tanie needs a new dress."

"Oh, is that her name?" Danielle asked, peering at Mia. "It's very unusual."

"No—no," Christine blundered. Her blush was deepening. "It's Damiana—Mia."

"Damiana-Mia?"

"No! It's Damiana, but we call her Mia."

"Oh, how pretty," the blonde woman said, trying to recover from the roundabout conversation.

Raoul had on a slight grin, but he was still gazing curiously at Mia. The little girl glared back, and all three adults pretended not to notice.

"We'll look you up and send you an invitation," Raoul said, dragging his beautiful blue eyes back to Christine. "It was nice to see you again."

"You too," Christine said.

"Merry Christmas," he offered politely.

"Yeah—you too," she said again. Feeling stupid, she watched as Raoul and his fiancée wandered away. Raoul entwined his fingers with hers as they left the produce section. Christine felt a flare of jealousy.

She _had _loved Raoul. She could have been very happy with him. But Erik had begged her, demanded her, pleaded with her, and she had followed his beckoning call. Erik was desperate, and Raoul could have found another girl—he had done so. Through all of that Christine was very, very happy with Erik.

But it was seeing them wandering so serenely through the supermarket, laughing over stupid things, holding hands, being able to visit with old friends that caused the jealousy within. It would never be possible to do those things with Erik. It would always be secrets and lies and excuses with her husband. No one could know him, no one could see him. And it saddened Christine.

She sighed and pushed the cart to the eternal checkout lines. Her shopping mood had been efficiently squashed.

"Tanie's dress!" Mia pouted, shaking her doll at Christine.

"You were very rude to Mr. Chagny," Christine said. "You don't deserve a new dress for your doll."

Mia wailed.

* * *

As soon as they arrived home, Mia was out of the car and in the house, waiting impatiently for Christine to unpack the peaches so she could have one.

Mia grew straight up. She hardly ever grew out. Although she ate, she never had a huge appetite and found most foods unappetizing. She still loved peaches, but her other loves consisted mostly of sweets, just like any other three year-old.

"And why not?" Erik said when Christine told him of this. "She's eating _something_, isn't she? You said yourself that children need lots of fats."

"She's eating sugar—that's it," Christine insisted. "I want her to eat good things as well."

"She eats peaches," Erik said dismissively. "Those are good for her."

Christine only caught Mia a few times with her hand in the sweets jar; after that, she was nearly impossible to catch. Her plans were almost elaborate. She was a positive schemer when it came to treats.

"No, Mia, you may have one after dinner!" Christine would say. And every day she would be forced to hide the jar in a new location. However, whenever she'd look in the jar, she would find several of the current desserts missing.

"We have to be firm on this," she said to Erik one chilly evening. "I read in this book—I forgot its name, but it was good—that we can't be divided on issues. It will confuse her. You need to back me up on this whole cookies thing."

"I am," he said vaguely, clearly submersed in his newspaper. Ayesha snaked in and out of his ankles, obviously looking for attention. When she received none, she jumped up into his lap.

"Then how did she find the jar two days ago? It was in the highest cupboard in the very back. Even if she climbed on the counter she couldn't reach it! She's too little!"

He turned a page. "I'm sure I don't know."

"She's going to make herself sick," Christine said, trying a completely different tactic.

"It's normal, my love," he replied. He was clearly uninterested in the conversation as he read. "Children have always done this. She'll be fine." Christine huffed and left to hide the jar once again. Mia scuttled from the kitchen as she entered, her hands full of soft desserts, an expression mixed between satisfaction at obtaining her snacks and anger at being caught written on her pale face.

"Mia!" Christine shouted angrily, but her daughter had already disappeared from the room.

But Christine noticed that although Mia found hundreds of ways to get all the sugary treats she wanted (thanks to her soft father), Mia never seemed to gain a pound. This worried Christine, and she told Erik, who merely grunted and said,

"Do you even remember who her father is?"

The comment insulted Christine for a moment before she realized what he meant. Still, Christine could not help but worry about Mia's health. She was dreadfully skinny and pale. It didn't help her pallor, either, that she had pitch-black hair and dark eyes. She had obviously inherited everything from her father, as nothing of Christine's had made its mark on Mia—no luscious curls, no china complexion, no rosy lips. The little girl wasn't ugly, but she would have never been at home in a children's beauty pageant (not that Erik would have ever allowed such a monstrosity).

Mia had also inherited other things from her father. Concerned as she was about Mia's health, Christine took her in for regular medical checkups, but the doctor always smiled and said Mia was "as healthy as a horse, and a good one to boot." It was clear that Erik had passed on his incredible immune system.

Christine was also sure that Ayesha tolerated Mia simply for Erik, just as the cat tolerated the soprano. Erik had had Ayesha before he married Christine, and she didn't ever dare to suggest that the cat be left out of their new home. Mia liked to play with her, even though the Siamese feline would obviously be much more content lazing around Erik. Being young, Mia was often just a little too rough with the cat, and it would bolt, yowling, to Erik.

"My darling, you must be gentle with her," Erik said to Mia, stroking Ayesha's glossy cream fur. "We don't want her to scratch you."

The little girl nodded and imitated Erik's movements, gently patting Ayesha, who looked lazily at Christine, clearly enjoying the attention she was receiving and the fact that Christine was getting none of it.

Mia was also fixated on his piano and spent an unusual amount of time for a rambunctious child sitting and listening to him play. Soon, she adamantly insisted on being taught.

"You must read first," Erik said as Mia awkwardly tugged herself onto the piano bench. After carefully situating Tanie next to her, Mia smacked her little hands on the keys.

"No," she said. He took a book from the table and offered it to her.

"Come here, precious," Erik crooned, opening the book. "Let me teach you words."

"No!"

Christine was watching from the couch and trying to hide her smile. If Mia had inherited anything that would upset Erik more, it was the stubborn nature that both of them possessed. Although she felt a little bad for thinking it, she was almost eager to see Erik get his comeuppance. Things had gone his way for far too long. She watched him blink and stand there, obviously thinking hard about how to persuade his tiny daughter. He went over to the piano and knelt next to her, softly saying,

"My sweet, I cannot teach you this if you do not understand words. Let me teach you that first, and then I will teach you music."

"I want music first," Mia said, pressing down on Middle C repeatedly.

"No," Erik said obstinately. "You must first learn how to read."

"Music!" Mia replied with equal insistency.

"If you don't agree, I shall teach you nothing at all!" Erik snapped.

Christine couldn't help it—she giggled.

When Erik looked back angrily, she hid her face in her magazine.

"What are you smirking at?" he demanded angrily.

She peeked coyly at him from over the top of the page. "My great and powerful Erik," she giggled. "Fighting with a three year-old!"

He growled and stood before approaching her. "You always manage to put things in startling perspective," he said grumpily, sitting next to her. Still, he grasped her hand and caressed it tenderly. Mia resiliently plunked out some notes, and her parents listened quietly. Absentmindedly, Christine reached up and stroked his bare face, feeling the familiar hollows and bones, running her fingers over the soft part around his lips, taking in all that his face offered.

Having grown up with it, Mia had never been bothered by Erik's face. In fact, she was bothered by his mask. One windy evening, when she was still a baby, Erik had returned home after some errands. Mia had just discovered the talent of rolling over, and she was demonstrating it in the front room while Christine watched happily.

Erik came in with few letters, and his entire demeanor softened at the quaint, domestic sight. He put the letters down on the table and, after removing his coat and hat, knelt down next to the baby. However, when she saw Erik, she began to cry. Completely bewildered and hurt beyond belief, Erik stood quickly and looked toward Christine. She picked up the screaming baby and tried to shush her, but Mia still wailed.

"Make her stop!" Erik said, his voice frightened.

"I don't know what's wrong!" Christine said, bouncing the baby softly. "She's not hungry. Maybe she has a stomachache or—" She stopped herself and looked toward Erik. "Take off your mask," she said.

Erik glanced at her but did not remove it.

"Take it off!" Christine commanded. "She doesn't recognize you in it."

Quickly, Erik slipped it off, and Christine held Mia out toward him. At the sight of his bare face, Mia began to quiet herself, and she whimpered and wriggled in Christine's arms. Christine handed her to Erik and, smiling slightly, went back to her seat. She had not missed the look of wonder that passed over Erik's features as his daughter gurgled happily at him.

And even still she grew extremely agitated whenever Erik wore his mask. Christine rather thought it frightened her, and she could understand—it was a bit intimidating whenever he donned that firm piece of leather that separated him from everyone else.

But when it was his face—just his bare face—Mia adored him beyond reason.

As if to prove Christine's thoughts true, Mia clambered down from the piano bench, grabbed Tanie, and walked over to her father, holding her arms out beseechingly. Erik leaned over and picked her up, settling her on his lap with a rare look of content in his glowing eyes. She immediately snuggled into his thin chest, happily clutching her doll to her own.

"Papa?" she said, her voice sleepy.

"Yes, sweetling?" he said, his voice making even Christine feel tired. She leaned against his shoulder.

"For Christmas I want—I want—" She interrupted herself with a huge yawn. Blearily rubbing her eyes with her tiny knuckles, she continued. "I want a baby brother."

Quickly, Erik looked at Christine, panic in his eyes. She, however, merely smiled and said, "We will see, Mia, darling."

Mia continued, apparently not hearing what Christine said. "I never had one before, and I want one. Will you do that, Papa?" She yawned again, obviously making a tremendous amount of effort to stay awake. "Will you give me a baby brother?"

"Perhaps," Erik purred. "Now sleep."

After Mia was tucked up in bed, they retreated to their bedroom. Ayesha was found lurking under the bed and sent out to find a different place to stay for the night. She gave Christine a highly reproachful look and sauntered out, her tail held high. As soon as the door was shut, Erik released his panic. He tugged on his clothes, pacing feverishly. Christine watched him from the bed.

"Another child!" he said anxiously. "I couldn't do it, Christine, I couldn't. One is enough to drive me out of my mind with worry. And Mia is three years old. There hasn't been another conception this entire time. She can't—I can't give her want she wants! If she were to ask for anything else, anything at all, I would give it! But no, she asks for the one thing out of my power. It's maddening, you know, if—"

"Erik!" Christine interrupted loudly. She pulled him onto the bed and held him. "She's a child, dear. She won't remember what she said tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning she'll want a unicorn, and the next day a rainbow castle, and the next day a fairy! She's a little girl. She'll always want the impossible. Don't worry so." She kissed his forehead soothingly. "Soon enough it will be new shoes and makeup and a set of car keys."

He groaned. "Don't remind me that we still have that in our future."

"It is a good thing that you have me," Christine said, smiling a little.

"It _is _a good thing," he conceded readily. "Otherwise I wouldn't have her."

"And without you, I wouldn't have her," Christine replied. She kissed him again. "So thank you."

* * *

One thing that obviously never failed to annoy Erik was Nadir Khan. Christine couldn't understand. She had asked Erik about their peculiar…friendship, and he had replied snappishly,

"He's a nosy busybody who thinks it's his life's purpose to hound me."

Contrary to whatever Erik said, Christine found Nadir Khan friendly—and maybe it was only because he was one of the few people who could tease Erik mercilessly and get away with it. As consequence, he had been invited to all of Mia's birthdays. After all, Christine said to Erik when she told him, he was there when she was born; it was only fitting. Mia's fourth birthday was no different.

Nadir arrived around three, brushing off snow from the shoulders of his jacket. Christine greeted him warmly, but before he could respond there was a delighted squeal and Mia came charging to the front door, clutching Tanie, dancing excitedly around Nadir, who always brought her the most beautiful and extraordinary of presents. A large, brightly-wrapped parcel was in his hands.

"What is it?" she gasped excited, jumping up and down as Nadir took off his coat and handed it to Christine to put away. "What is my present, Uncle Nadir?"

"Mia, be polite!" Christine said. "Go find Papa and tell him Nadir's here."

Mia sped off without question. The sooner Papa was found, the sooner she could eat the cake that her mother had baked for her and open her fabulous presents. Christine led Nadir into the sitting room and served him the warm coffee that was already waiting.

"Thank you," he said graciously, setting the present on the table and picking up a steaming cup. "The drive was terrible."

"I'm glad you got here safely," Christine said, sitting down and smiling at him. "Mia loves your visits."

"It's good that at least one person does," Nadir said, drinking his coffee and watching Christine with sparkling jade-green eyes. Christine laughed.

"You know I do too!" she said. "You're a wonderful friend to us, Nadir, and we can't thank you enough, especially considering you come all the way out here for a birthday party."

"Ah, I could never resist seeing my _favorite _niece, now could I?" Nadir said with a wink.

"That's strange, considering you do not have one," said a clipped voice, and Christine turned to see Erik in the doorway, Mia bouncing around his legs excitedly, Ayesha trotting behind him dutifully. Christine rolled her eyes at Nadir in an apologetic sort of way, and he gave her a look that quite plainly said he wasn't bothered in the least. He had known Erik for too long to be offended by slight comments.

Mia ran over and squished herself beside Nadir, who immediately gave her his full attention.

"You look very pretty today," Nadir said kindly.

The little girl's face lit up with excitement, and she bounced. "_Maman _did my hair, she made it all curly and pretty and put this bow in it. Do you like it, Uncle Nadir? Do you? And this is my special birthday dress. _Maman _wouldn't let me wear it until today. Do you like it?" Mia then waved her doll in front of Nadir's face. "And Tanie has on a pretty dress, too! Do you like it, Uncle Nadir? I did her hair myself! Do you like it?"

While Nadir assured her that both girls were, indeed, very pretty, Erik came and sat by Christine, glowering as his daughter happily chatted to the Iranian. Christine was not unaware. She knew that Nadir's son had died years and years ago when he had been just a few years older than Mia. Nadir was seeing some sort of replacement for him, something to ease the pain in his heart, and Mia, being adorable and sociable, had somehow filled the gap that was there.

After a few minutes, it was obvious that Mia was growing impatient, for she began eyeing the present on the table, knowing it contained something unique and beautiful, and she knew that her parents had gotten her wonderful gifts as well. She wanted to know what they were.

"All right, I guess it's time, Mia," Christine said, laughing as Mia shrieked in excitement and ran to the dining room, Tanie waving comically over her head. The three adults followed, and Christine left to light the candles on the cake and bring it in. She was rather proud of herself at the way it turned out. It was small, like always (Erik and Nadir did not eat any, ever, and Christine only ate a little so Mia wouldn't feel lonely), but it was prettily decorated with frosting ladybugs and the words _Happy Birthday Mia _written in icing.

Like usual, Mia quickly blew out the candles, shoveled in as much cake and ice cream as she could, and then fidgeted in the chair, looking excitedly at the three adults, waiting for her presents. As Erik left to fetch them, Nadir pulled Christine aside.

"She ought to be old enough to have a real birthday party—with children her own age."

"I know," Christine murmured, picking up Nadir's present for him. "She has a few kids she plays with at the park on Saturdays, but…you know. It's hard."

"I understand," Nadir said honestly. "But Christine, she's going to have to learn to deal with the questions sooner or later. It's going to hurt if she goes off to school and realizes that other children's fathers aren't…" He trailed off, but Christine did not need him to say it. Instead he finished, "There are going to be a lot of questions from everyone."

They went back into the dining room. "I know," Christine said, putting the present down in front of Mia, who squealed and clapped excitedly. Christine took a napkin and wiped the frosting and ice cream off of her daughter's face. "Maybe next year. I'll talk to Erik about it."

Only a few moments after the words came out did he enter, bearing the usual bright boxes in his arms. He laid them all out before his daughter neatly, saying softly, "Here you are, my sweet."

There was the usual rustling as the three adults sat and watched the little girl attack the nearest present. And then came the customary shriek of excitement as she saw a new wardrobe for Tanie, who was dutifully resting on the table. Then it was the next present (a beautiful book full of fairytales), and the next (a small trunk stuffed with dress-up clothing), and the next (dress-up jewelry that she immediately put on). And then it was Nadir's, and Mia opened it with quivering excitement. When the wrapping fell off, it revealed a cardboard box, and Mia stood on her chair to open it and peer inside interestedly. Happy wonder filled her face.

"Uncle Nadir, Uncle Nadir!" she kept yelling, jumping in her chair, her plastic pearls swinging wildly around her neck.

"Take it out and show us, darling," Christine said, who actually always looked forward to Nadir's presents.

With trembling hands, Mia began lifting out the tea set. It was beautiful and obviously fragile. Delicate patterned teacups with saucers amassed, followed by a little cream jug, and then the teapot itself, beautifully-crafted with an elongated handle and spout. All of it was decorated with gorgeous, brilliant flowers, their stems wrapping around the bases and handles.

"Nadir," Christine said quietly. "Are you—are you _sure_? It's wonderful, but…It's obviously expensive and very delicate. I mean…Mia might be a bit better behaved than other children, but she's still four."

"I'm sure," Nadir said firmly. "Mia will take care of it, won't you?"

Mia nodded fervently, lightly touching the teapot with one shaking finger. Still worried slightly, Christine packed it away securely in the box once again and promised Mia to get it out when the excitement of the day was over. There was only one present left—Erik's.

It was smaller than usual, and confusion flitted across the four year-old's eyes as she carefully began unwrapping it. Christine glanced at Erik, who was not able to hide the slightest apprehension in his eyes. Christine resisted smiling. He was always determined to outshine Nadir every year (and had done so spectacularly). But Nadir had done a fabulous job this time.

The wrappings finally fell away, and Mia lifted the little box carefully, inspecting it. It was dark and intricately carved with flowers and the like. Christine leaned a little closer to look as well. No matter how many times she asked, he never told her what Mia was getting from him, and so she was just as interested as her daughter in the little box. She saw that MIA had been carved on top in the beautifully-detailed leaves. Mia ran her tiny fingers over the letters.

Erik said, "I made it just for you, sweetest. Open it."

When she did, a beautiful, tinkling piano melody was brought forth. Christine had not heard it before and knew that Erik had composed it specifically for his daughter. Mia pulled out something black and odd-looking that had been resting in the box. She looked toward Erik for explanation.

"It is your metronome," he said. "I have decided that you are old enough to learn music."

All other presents were instantly forgotten as Mia flew toward her father. Nadir grinned at Christine across the table, and she smiled back in exasperation. The Iranian gave a hopeless shrug, as if to say that he had tried his best.

The rest of the evening passed amiably. Mia had tried on a few new dress-up outfits before deciding on a purple tutu, a green boa, and a large, floppy hat. Sitting on the floor in her outfit, she dressed Tanie up in her new outfits as well, happily chattering to no one in particular. The three adults spoke to each other quietly, amiably, though most of the time attention was directed toward the little girl on the floor. Sometime later, Mia crawled into her father's lap (most unusually, Tanie had been left on the floor; Christine suspected that Mia did not want to share her father with anyone, not even her favorite doll). After situating herself comfortably, she quickly fell asleep. Ayesha prowled into the room, saw her favorite spot was taken, and left again.

Nadir chuckled quietly as Mia slept. "I believe that's my cue to nod off as well. If you two will excuse me, I think I'll turn in for the night."

Christine wished him a goodnight, and Erik inclined his head as a farewell. Slowly, Nadir climbed the stairs to the little-used guest room at the end of the hall (he was the only person that used it, and his visits were only once or twice a year). Gently, Christine reached over to detangle her daughter from the clothing and jewelry she had put on. It wasn't an easy task. There was a lot of it. Erik then rose to put her in bed, his precious child cradled carefully in his arms. Christine smiled at his retreating back and then began to clean up the mess from the day's excitement. It was no small feat. Somehow Mia had already managed to widely spread her just-received gifts. Christine even found a clip-on earring under the sofa. Grumbling and still smiling, she went to the kitchen and cleaned up the melted ice cream and gooey cake.

As she washed, a feather-light touch came to her waist, and she jumped.

"You always do that," she said, not even bothering to turn around. "One day I'll get you."

"Perhaps," he said simply. His hand was still at her waist, and he came to her side, content to stand beside her. The Siamese cat followed him into the room, mewing at Erik for attention.

"Did she go down okay?" Christine asked.

"Of course." There was a pause, and his fingers tightened a little around her waist. "Christine, my darling…I want to thank you."

"For what?" she asked, trying to rinse frosting out from under her fingernails.

"For—for all of this," he said, and she looked at him, sensing his tone. He had taken off his mask. "I never thought I would have this. It's…more than I ever hoped for."

She smiled. "You never thought you'd have a day filled with already-forgotten presents and melting birthday cake?" She gestured to the cake oozing on the counter. He considered it for a moment and then scooped some frosting onto his long index finger.

"I never did," he said seriously, looking at her. And then he put the frosting onto her nose. She gave a muffled, indignant shriek, grabbed some frosting for herself, and smeared it onto his exposed neck. A furious, insane fight promptly followed, Christine shrieking with delighted giggles as sticky, smelly frosting got into her hair, in her mouth, and all over her clothes and face. When a large dollop of frosting landed close to Ayesha, she sped from the room with an angry hiss, which made Erik laugh.

It was times like that that she truly felt like she had married a normal man. Erik wasn't exactly _playful_, but he did have his rare soft moments, and Christine treasured each one. He was everything to her—a husband, teacher, partner, manager, confidante, father to her child, and…during those times…he was simply her best friend.

Their frosting fight was interrupted by a loud, "Ah-_hem._"

Instantly, they froze and looked over. Nadir was standing there, a robe pulled over his nightclothes, and a very tired-looking Mia was holding his hand, blearily rubbing her eyes. She looked tiny and positively adorable in her little princess nightgown.

"I'm sorry to interrupt this…ah—moment, but _some _of us—" he shook Mia's hand slightly. "—are trying to sleep. You're very loud, you know, both of you."

Christine looked at Erik, who looked comical, and she stifled a snort of laughter. She knew she looked a great deal worse, but she would have never imagined Erik with smeared green and red icing on his cheek.

"Ah, yes," Erik said, trying to recover. "Perhaps—yes." He stepped forward and made to pick up his daughter, but he caught sight of his dirty, frosting-encrusted hands and stopped himself.

"I'll take her back," Nadir said shortly. He then addressed the little girl gently. "Let's get you back to bed, Mia." The girl nodded, yawned hugely, and let herself be led back upstairs.

Erik and Christine stood in silence for a minute, unsure of what to do next. Giving an irritated grunt, he went over and stuck his hands under the faucet, washing away the frosting in large clumps.

"This tastes terrible," he said. Christine giggled nervously.

"I know," she said. Quietly, they rinsed away the icing. Christine had a lot in her curly hair and stuck her head under the faucet. Erik's fingers helped a great deal, though. And then they cleaned up what was on the floor and the counters, not stopping until they and the kitchen were spotless. Erik took Christine's hand and led her to their bedroom.

"I still wanted to thank you," he said softly.

She looked and smiled at him, squeezing his fingers.

He said, "I definitely never thought I'd have this."


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are you going?" he demanded as she gathered up her coat and the car keys.

She glanced at him and said, "I've got to pick up Mia."

"Oh." He glanced at the clock. "I didn't realize it was so late."

"Perhaps if you spent five minutes outside of your study," she teased lightly. He walked over and helped her put on her coat.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. He stroked the back of her hand.

"Why?"

"I did not spend time with you today," he murmured.

"It's all right, Erik," she assured him, smiling and pressing a kiss to his mouth. "I'll be back later."

"I should come with you," he offered.

"No, it's fine. I have to talk with her teacher for a little."

"Why?" He followed her out to the car, and she laughed as she opened the door.

"Probably to tell me that she's too smart for her class and should be pushed up to college. She's too much like her father, you know." She slid in the car and turned the ignition. It hummed to life. Erik leaned down and watched her through the window.

"She's like her mother as well," he said. He brushed his long fingers against her cheek. "Be safe, my love."

The smile was still on her lips. "See you soon."

Erik had been almost aghast when Christine said it was time for Mia to go to school. When asked why, he merely said that she had only started walking a year or so ago. Christine laughed.

"Erik, she's four years old. She's been walking for years. It's time for preschool."

But the next morning, he put his foot down. He had, apparently, spent all night researching the available preschools in the area, and none of them fit his expectations. They were glorified expensive daycares, he said; messy, sticky, filthy places with idiot children and fat women who sat around and half-heartedly taught them the ABC's—which, he was good enough to remind her, Mia had known for over a year (she had learned so Erik could finally begin teaching her music). And so Mia wasn't allowed to go, as much as Christine pestered. It was sure to harm her later, she had said. Mia needed to make friends with children her own age and to begin learning basic social skills. But the more she pestered, the more upset Erik became, and so the argument had been left unfinished.

Christine soon suspected the real reason: he was most reluctant to let his daughter go and begin a new stage of life.

But no matter how reluctant he was, he could not keep her from attending kindergarten. He_ could_, however, sulk and watch glumly as Mia packed her tiny backpack the night before, happily chattering to Christine about how excited she was to go to school (Tanie sat to the side after Mia sternly told her that school was no place for her). Erik also made sure that Mia had been enrolled in the top private elementary school he could find that was nearby.

Christine had raised an eyebrow but said nothing. She was sure there was an actual wait list to enroll in the school. It seemed Erik had "pulled some strings" to enroll his daughter.

Just as Erik and Christine had predicted, Mia thrived at school and absorbed all information like a sponge. She came home each day bursting with new things to share, crafts made out of Popsicle sticks and cotton balls, crayon-drawn pictures of farm animals, rhymes and limericks she had learned, and the names of new friends she had made. It all delighted Christine, who was happy to listen.

Erik liked to pretend he wasn't very interested, but he always made sure that her drawings and crafts were carefully tacked up in her bedroom. He had even repaired a Popsicle stick house with simple glue when it had broken.

All in all, Christine was overjoyed with both of her loves, and she smiled as she drove the short distance to the school.

It was a pristine two-story red brick building, with _MOUNT VERNON PREPARATORY SCHOOL _shining over the entrance. Christine smiled and rolled her eyes affectionately. Erik was certainly an endearing man, once she had gotten past the horror she had previously felt for him.

She hurried into the warm school. It was the day before the Christmas vacation started, and snow was falling steadily from the sky. Gratefully, she pulled open the front door and entered the building.

The hallways were long, and her short heels clicked and echoed as she made her way to Mia's classroom. As she approached, a bell rang, and at once the doors on either side of her exploded, children running about, shrieking, shouting, and shoving in their haste to leave the school. Christine fought her way through the masses of tiny children, all of them a flurry of navy and white, mixed with an occasional shock of red hair, the gleam of blonde locks, or the dark shimmer of brown tresses. Christine finally located the right classroom and stepped inside gratefully. The noise level dropped significantly.

"Mrs. Vautour!"

Mia's teacher was a very tall, very lean, very flat woman named Ms. Woodlock, with a long nose and very short iron-gray hair. Her clothing was always crisp, conservative, and impeccable, and everything about her suggested sensibility and intelligence. Christine shook her hand, surprised momentarily at her very strong grip, and took the offered seat on the other side of the large oak desk.

"_Maman_!"

Christine turned immediately at the sound of her daughter's voice and opened her arms to embrace the little girl, who jumped delightedly.

"My darling!" Christine exclaimed, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "How was your day?"

"It was good!" Mia said, grinning at her toothily. "Can we go home now? Christmas!"

"Not yet, sweet," Christine said, smiling. "Let _Maman _talk to your teacher for a few minutes. Why don't you go play for a while?"

She nodded and scampered away to another corner of the room, where building blocks and other toys were located. Christine turned back and found that Ms. Woodlock was smiling at her, though it was tight and obviously forced. Feeling slightly nervous, like she was in trouble herself, Christine cleared her throat and sat up a little straighter. Erik always said that posture spoke volumes.

Ms. Woodlock leaned forward slightly and finally began. "Mrs. Vautour, first let me say what an honor it has been teaching Damiana."

"Mia," Christine corrected automatically, unthinkingly.

"Excuse me?"

"Oh—I'm sorry," Christine said, blushing slightly and smiling. "She goes by Mia. I think she prefers it."

"I'm sure," Ms. Woodlock said. "However, we do not encourage nicknames here. The world and the workforce will not recognize her as 'Mia.' They will recognize her legally given name. We feel it is best that children understand this and dispense with the use of nicknames. They do nothing."

"Oh," Christine said.

Ms. Woodlock cleared her throat. "As I was saying, Mrs. Vautour. Damiana is a wonderful girl. She's exceptionally bright and very polite. She is an exemplary student at Mount Vernon."

"I'm glad to hear it," Christine said. She was feeling less inclined to like Ms. Woodlock the more the meeting went on.

"However."

Christine's attention snapped back into place. Something was wrong. There was the 'however.' This was not a meeting to talk about how wonderful Mia was.

"I called you in today, Mrs. Vautour, to discuss something that troubled me."

"Did she do something wrong?" Christine asked blankly.

"No."

"Is she all right? Is she behind on her lessons?"

"No, of course not, Mrs. Vautour, allow me to finish. As I was about to say, last week I asked the children to draw a picture of their families."

Christine's stomach flooded with ice. She already knew what was coming, and she could only stare with dumb horror as Ms. Woodlock went on.

"Usually this exercise does not cause much excitement. It's simply to teach the children that there are different types of families. Families with one child or four, families with a single parent, children being raised by relatives—you understand, I'm sure."

Christine nodded, feeling herself go pale.

"However, Damiana's drawing was quite…how should I say it? Quite _unusual_. I attempted to ask her about it, but she insisted that it was accurate. I haven't hung it on the wall or allowed her to take it home yet, because I wanted to talk to you about it."

She pulled open a drawer in her desk and extracted a sheet of paper before holding out to Christine. Christine took it, trying to stop her trembling fingers. She looked at it.

Yes, there it was, in crayon, right before her eyes. Mia's depiction of her family. Mia was between her parents, holding either hand, and she had drawn herself in her school uniform, looking rather plain compared to her parents. Christine was holding her left hand, drawn in an elaborate royal-blue gown, her chocolate hair curly and falling to her waist. There was even a crown on her head. And Christine dragged her eyes over to Erik…He was there, his clothing all colored black.

And he didn't have a mask on.

Christine stared. She didn't want to look at Ms. Woodlock anymore. She wanted to take the picture, rip it up, grab Mia and run home. She wanted to shut them all away and never emerge. She did notice, with some glimmer of dull amusement, that Mia had also drawn Ayesha sitting beside them, looking haughty and regal even in crayon.

"Well?"

She blinked and looked back at the stern teacher before her. And Christine chose the only path she could think of.

"Well what?"

One gray eyebrow rose as Ms. Woodlock observed her. "Is it a true likeness?"

Christine put the paper back down on the desk, unsure if she could look at it anymore.

"I suppose I could say yes."

"You mean to tell me that you usually wear ball gowns and crowns and that your husband has four black holes instead of regular facial features?"

"No," Christine said, feeling her temper shoot up.

"Then why did she draw her family this way?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Christine said hotly.

"Well, I suppose I could ask her," Ms. Woodlock said softly. It seemed like she was enjoying Christine's temper, which stoked it even further. "Damiana! Come here, please."

Mia ran over and climbed into Christine's lap, smiling at her teacher.

"Your mother and I were just talking about your wonderful drawing you did last week," Ms. Woodlock said, smiling at the little girl. "Do you remember it? It's right here."

Mia picked up her drawing and nodded, still smiling. "It's my _Maman _and Papa and me." She bounced in Christine's lap and turned to grin at her as well. Christine forced a smile in return.

"It's a lovely drawing," Ms. Woodlock continued. "However, Damiana, I was just wondering…Do your mother and father really look like that?"

"Yes," Mia said.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Does your mother wear big, pretty dresses and crowns often?" Ms. Woodlock said, motioning to the picture.

"No," Mia said. "Only sometimes when she goes to the opera with Papa."

"Then why did you draw her in a dress and crown?"

Mia squirmed uncomfortably in Christine's lap. "Because Papa always calls her his queen…And she looks like a princess to me."

It would have normally warmed Christine's heart, but she knew that the worst was only coming: Erik had not yet been discussed.

Ms. Woodlock smiled at Mia's explanation of Christine, and her attention turned to the other side of the drawing. "And your father, Damiana?"

"What?"

"Your father—this man right here. Where are his eyes, nose, and mouth?"

"They're right there," Mia said, pointing to the black crayon marks.

"Those are not facial features," Ms. Woodlock said.

"Yes they are," Mia insisted. "That is what my papa looks like."

"He has four black holes in his face instead of eyes, a nose, and a mouth?"

Mia nodded. Ms. Woodlock looked at Christine with a raised eyebrow. Christine flushed dully and held Mia a little tighter. The urge to flee was overpowering. Erik was always the one protecting her, but he was miles away, probably absorbed in some project, unaware that she was being pinned and trapped.

"Thank you, Damiana. We will only be a few more minutes."

Mia wriggled out of her mother's grasp and ran back to the play corner.

"Now that I think on it, I have never met Damiana's father. He was not here for the orientation night, nor has he ever been here to pick her up as far as I'm aware. Damiana always speaks most highly of him. She says he is the best piano player and singer in the world. She also says he can draw beautiful pictures. I've assumed they're silly ramblings of a father's little princess." There was a short silence. "I'd like to politely request to meet with Mr. Vautour as soon as possible."

"I'm afraid it's _not_ possible," Christine replied at once.

Ms. Woodlock's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"It's not possible," Christine repeated, trying to keep a waver out of her voice.

"Why is that?"

"Work," Christine invented wildly. "He works long hours to provide for us. As you know, this school isn't exactly free education."

Ms. Woodlock's mouth thinned. "I'm sure I can make arrangements. Mornings, evenings, weekends—anything at all."

"He would not like to give up his leisure time," Christine said stubbornly. "He likes to spend as much time as he can with Mia."

"Then he should meet with me," she insisted. "We can discuss her in a very enlightening setting. I'm sure he has fascinating insights to her character and—"

Christine's cell phone began ringing wildly, and she made no excuses as she rummaged in her bag for it, glad for the opportunity to stop talking to the woman sitting across from her. She flipped it open.

"Hello?" she said breathlessly.

"_Christine_?" It was Erik. "_Where are you? You've been gone a very long time, you know… Are you all right?"_

"Of course I am," Christine said, glancing at Ms. Woodlock, who was obviously listening closely. "I'm almost finished."

"_You're still talking to Mia's teacher? What does she want?"_

"Nothing important," Christine said hurriedly.

"_You sound rather flustered_," he said suspiciously. "_What's wrong?"_

"Nothing!" she insisted.

"_If you are lying—"_

Mia had rushed over. "Are you talking to Papa?" she asked eagerly, staring up at Christine. "I want to talk to him!"

"We're going home soon, you can talk to him then," Christine said quietly. Erik's voice rang out forcefully from the phone.

"_Is that Mia? Let me speak with her_."

"No—no!" Christine stood up and collected her purse. Ms. Woodlock observed it all with suspicious, cool eyes and a frowning mouth. "I'll be home in a minute, love." And she snapped the phone shut, knowing very well that she would have to pay for her rudeness to him. Mia pouted and tugged on her sleeve, whining, "I wanted to talk to him! Call him back!"

Christine's head was pounding. "Hush!" she snapped at Mia. "We're going home right now." She turned back to Ms. Woodlock, resisting the urge to glare. "It was lovely to speak with you," she lied coldly. "But I really have to go home now."

So saying, she took Mia's hand. "Get your drawing now, Mia, dear," she said softly. Mia grabbed it, and before Ms. Woodlock could demand it back, Christine dragged her daughter from the classroom. Not until they were in the car did Christine breathe with relief. Her phone rang again, and she sighed.

"It's Papa. Go ahead and answer it."

Mia dived for the phone and opened it, eagerly saying, "Papa?"

Christine started the car and quickly drove out of the lot, almost afraid that Ms. Woodlock would come hurtling out and demand more answers. As she drove, she listened to Mia's side of the conversation.

"No. We're going home…She's okay…Yes…Yeah…Okay…Papa, I—oh…Okay. Bye." And she hung up the phone and put it back in Christine's purse. After rummaging around in it a minute more, Mia pulled out some chewing gum and promptly stuck three sticks of it into her mouth. She chewed ferociously and then said,

"_Maman_, when will I get a phone?"

Despite the situation, Christine laughed. "Not for a very long time, I'm afraid."

"But Sarah in my class has one."

"That's too bad," Christine said. They were silent for a moment, and Christine turned into the driveway. "It's no use asking Papa. He won't let you have one either." Judging by the glance at Mia's sour face, Christine guessed that that was exactly what she had been planning to do.

Mia shot out of the car as soon as it was off, and Christine looked at the drawing resting on the passenger seat. With a heavy heart, she picked it up and ripped it into small pieces, knowing nothing good would ever come from anyone seeing it again.

When she entered the house, she found Mia at the piano, waiting impatiently for a lesson. Erik, however, was waiting for her.

"What happened?" he asked quickly. "You sounded upset on the phone."

"Papa!" Mia called, tapping out a note.

"It was nothing," Christine said, going to take her coat off. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude. I was in a meeting, and Mia was trying to talk to me, and her teacher was trying to as well. I can't handle three people in my ear at the same time."

He examined her suspiciously. "It's more than that," he declared. "You sounded _upset_, not frustrated."

"Really, it was noth—"

With speed that was known only to him, he took her arm and looked straight into her eyes. "Please, tell me," he said. "You know how much I loathe secrets."

"Papa!" Mia hollered. "My music!"

"Hush yourself!" Erik snapped quickly. Mia was obviously taken aback. Her father didn't snap at her.

"I—I didn't know what to do," Christine finally confessed, whispering so her voice would not carry to Mia. Erik looked supremely concerned and moved closer. "Mia's teacher asked them all to draw pictures of their families, and…"

Erik closed his eyes and said quietly, "Am I correct in assuming she drew me—and she drew me like this?"

Feeling close to tears, she nodded. "Yeah," she whispered. "She asked Mia about it, and Mia—you know her, she said it was how you looked. Her teacher then asked to meet you. She _insisted _on it. I told her no, of course. And then you called, and I practically ran out. I didn't know what to do, Erik, I didn't!"

"Let me see the picture," he said.

She shook her head, sniffing slightly. "I ripped it up and threw it away. I'm sorry."

There was silence, and she could tell he was thinking. He absentmindedly rubbed her arm that he was holding, staring at a spot on the wall, a hard look in his eyes. Although he was being gentle with her, she knew that rage was close to the surface.

"What time is it?" he suddenly demanded.

"What?"

"Time—the time." He looked around and spotted a clock. "3:30," he muttered. "So she would still…Yes. Yes, I'm going." He went to the closet, collected his coat, and walked to the garage.

"Erik, where are you—are you going _there_? To the school? No, please, don't go! Please, don't do this!" She grabbed his hand, and he whirled on her.

"Do you think it will stop?" he demanded roughly. Mia had climbed down from her bench and was watching the scene with wide eyes, clutching Christine's leg. Even Ayesha came in to listen. Sensing his distress, she wound around his ankles, meowing. Erik ignored her. "Do you? Do you think it ever stops? You might have bought me three weeks at the most, my love, but when Mia returns, it will be questions, and words in her mouth, and then it will escalate. Soon it will be a social worker at my doorstep to take my daughter away from me! No! I will not have it! You've lived with this for six years, and you think you know, but you don't! When you've lived with it for forty, come to me and tell me how it is. You learn, you see…You learn that it will never stop. People never change. Times change, yes, but people, no. So I am going to give her what she wants!" So saying, he grabbed his mask from the table, tied it on, tugged his coat on, slipped on a pair of gloves, and went to the door.

Christine stared for a moment. Then, blinking as if coming out of a sleep, she scooped up Mia in her arms and hurried after him. She slid into the passenger seat of the car, clutching Mia, who was still silent and wide-eyed. Erik sighed and looked at her.

"Get out," he said. It wasn't threatening; he sounded tired.

"No," she said. She was shaking, but she was firm in her decision. She knew what she had to do.

"I will not tell you again."

"Good, because I'm not going anywhere," she said. "You don't have to do this alone anymore, Erik. I'm your wife—I'm here for you. I want to support you."

"You will support me enough by staying here and watching Mia."

"Then you support me," Christine said. With some difficulty, she turned and buckled Mia into her little booster seat. "Show me how to handle it. Show me what to do." She reached over and placed her small hand over his. "But whatever we do, I do not want us to be alone in it."

There was some silence, broken only when Erik turned the ignition. "You know it will be…uncomfortable," he said. "I am not going to be…nice. It may make you cry."

"I won't cry over something I'm proud of," she said. She put a reassuring hand on his thigh, and it remained there for the short drive to Mia's school. It seemed looming and intimidating as they pulled up, and Christine held back a shiver. After she unbuckled Mia and pulled her out of the seat, she did shiver, though it was from the chilly wind; she hadn't brought her coat with her. Immediately, Erik shrugged off his own and draped it over her. She thanked him and held Mia a little tighter. It felt necessary to hold her daughter in her arms through the encounter.

It was quiet in the school, though she saw teachers in their classrooms, tidying up, filing papers, erasing boards. It was the day before the holidays, and they were finishing up business, meaning most were staying a bit later than usual. Erik knew Mia's classroom number and purposefully strode to it, Christine hurrying along behind him. She couldn't help but admire him, even now, as he held his head erect and proud. Mia's little arms were around her neck. She was silent.

They approached the door. Christine swallowed and wildly wished that Ms. Woodlock had left. But the door was unlocked and Erik pushed it open. She followed in behind him.

"Jean Woodlock?" he said.

Ms. Woodlock had been straightening some desks in the back of the room and turned sharply at the sound of Erik's beautiful voice. However, her face drained of color as she saw him.

"Yes?" she said in a voice unlike her own. "Yes, what do you want? Who are you? What are you doing here?"

"I believe you wanted to speak with me," Erik said.

Spotting Christine and Mia next to him, some relief flooded Ms. Woodlock's face, though she still did look apprehensive as she said,

"Oh, Mr.—Mr. Vautour. Of course. Thank you for—for meeting with me on such short notice." She stumbled a little as she made her way back to her huge desk.

"It was no trouble," Erik said. Christine heard his carefully-hidden scathing tone.

There being only one chair on either side of the desk, Erik offered it to Christine, who took it gratefully. Mia had actually fallen asleep, comfortably clutching Christine as she settled into the chair. Ms. Woodlock looked rather uneasy as she carefully lowered herself into her own chair. It was apparent that she did not like the idea of him standing and bearing down on her. Quickly, she attempted to gain some control by straightening a pile of papers on her desk.

"Yes, Mrs. Vautour—your wife—told me it was impossible to meet with you, as you work long hours."

"It appears some free time opened up," Erik said. "My afternoon is yours. What is it you wished to discuss with me?"

"I…" She looked momentarily lost for words.

"Surely you didn't call me all the way from my home for an introduction?" Erik said. "I have precious little time, as I'm sure you know."

All in the room (those three awake and conscious) knew that that was exactly why Ms. Woodlock had so adamantly insisted upon a meeting with Erik. It was never about Mia. It was to satisfy her own curiosity. Erik was obviously going to make her squirm. Christine suddenly felt an upswing of pity for the woman, though it instantly died when she remembered who she was holding in her arms—and who she would be holding that evening.

"No, of course not," Ms. Woodlock said quickly, once again straightening her papers. "I wanted to discuss…" She looked around for some obvious inspiration. "I wanted to discuss Damiana, of course."

"Mia," Erik corrected. Christine smiled a little. It had been automatic, just as hers had been.

"Mia—yes, like I said, to discuss her. She's quite a talented little girl, I'm sure you know. She's already progressing rapidly, absorbing information surprisingly quickly. She's reading far beyond her grade level and has shown a certain aptitude for music."

"I know all of this," Erik said, with just the right touch of impatience in his voice. "I have known it before she came to this…_school_." He said the last word with a degrading lilt.

"I'm not surprised," Ms. Woodlock said quickly, fumbling with the awkward things Erik had thrown at her. "You being her father, it's natural that you know…That you should understand…"

"My wife," Erik interrupted coldly, "knows this as well. Surely this could have been discussed with her while she was here earlier. I'm sure she did not envision spending this afternoon coming back and forth from this place. Likewise, I did not imagine that a heavily-requested meeting would consist entirely of inane blabber about my daughter's genius, of which I am fully aware. This all suggests only one thing: that you are an incompetent fool."

Ms. Woodlock sat, open-mouthed and staring. Christine's heart was pounding wildly as she looked back and forth from the teacher to Erik.

He wasn't finished. He leaned forward and rested his large hands on the desk. Ms. Woodlock recoiled, most likely out of instinct.

"I know the real reason you requested to meet me," he said, his voice soft and dangerous. Christine knew it was more terrifying than hearing him shout. Although his anger wasn't directed at her, she still shivered and clutched her sleeping daughter a little closer.

Erik raised a threatening finger. "You will leave my family alone," he hissed quietly. "You will not talk to my daughter about anything pertaining to her family life. You will keep your conversations with her related solely to what you are teaching. If I find out—and I will—that any of my _requests _have not been kept, I will crush you. I will destroy your career. I will discredit you and have you thrown from this building. I will then tear down this school, and it will not be brick-by-brick. I will make you weep over the day that you poked your abnormally-long nose into my family's business. Am I understood?"

Ms. Woodlock nodded immediately, her face ghostly white. She was silent as Erik gently took Mia from Christine's arms and helped his wife out of the chair.

"Good evening, Madame," he said poisonously. He walked over and opened the door for Christine.

"After you, my darling," he said, his voice warm and courteous. Glancing one more time at the petrified Ms. Woodlock, Christine walked out of the room, and Erik followed, snapping the door shut behind them.


	4. Chapter 4

It was hard to understand. Christine didn't know the change was so rapid. It was as if a switch had been thrown. Everything seemed to happen in the blink of an eye. It scared Christine. One year Mia loved her mother, and the next she seemed to be completely indifferent, as if Christine was simply something to put up with. Christine tried, at first, to tell herself that it was simply some sort of silly game Mia was playing: see how far she could push her mother without her mother becoming upset. But the weeks wore on, and Mia's rude behavior continued.

"Mia?" Christine called to the house. She was frowning at the giant mess left on the table. She had asked Mia to clean it up three times already. There was no answer. Erik was gone for the day, and Christine felt oddly alone and almost exposed as she tended to the house without his presence. She walked out of the kitchen and went to the stairs to look up. Mia's door was shut, meaning that she was probably inside. Sighing a little, she climbed the stairs and knocked on the door.

"Mia?" she said again. She opened the door. "Darling, what are you doing?"

"Playing," Mia said shortly. She was sitting by her huge dollhouse (built by Erik for Mia's sixth birthday), her various dolls littered around her. Christine looked around the room, frowning just a little. There were dirty clothes on the floor, books, pictures, shoes, candy wrappers, drawings, and a huge array of toys and dress-up jewelry and clothes.

"How did your room become such a mess?" Christine said, stepping inside and picking up some things.

"I like those there!" Mia said. She returned to her dolls.

"You need to clean this before Papa gets home," Christine said. "He's not going to like it."

Mia turned around and glared a little. "Papa doesn't care what my room is like."

"Yes he does," Christine said. "He wants it clean, just like I do."

"You're just saying that," Mia insisted. Christine felt her lips pull into a deep frown.

"Even if he doesn't care, _I _do, and I have just as much say as he does," Christine said shortly. "So you are going to go downstairs and clean your mess. Then you're going to come up here and clean your room."

Mia crossed her arms sullenly and sulked. "Ok_ay_," she snapped.

"And drop the tone, young lady," Christine warned. She left the room, the frown still on her lips. It wasn't so much the backtalk that worried and angered her as much as the fact that Mia only did it to _her_. She was respectful and obedient to Erik. Anything he asked, she did. But if Christine asked Mia to do something, Mia threw a royal tantrum, huffing angrily, stomping, sighing, slamming doors, and making it plainly known that she did _not _want to do it. Christine tried to talk with her about it, but Mia stubbornly insisted that she was okay and that she wasn't doing anything wrong.

Christine couldn't help but feel slightly resentful that Mia had chosen _her _to snap at and talk back to. Christine was sure that Erik wouldn't have stood for such nonsense from a child, but she always tried to reason through things and talk about things before taking any sort of decisive action. It was quickly becoming clear, though, that talking through this phase with Mia was not going to go anywhere at all.

Christine sighed and wandered through the house, peering out of the window. The days were shortening, and the sun was already low in the horizon. Erik had promised to be back before dark. She was waiting for him anxiously. Ayesha was uneasy too, wandering around the house, refusing to let herself be stroked, unwilling to be in the same spot for any amount of time. Erik had been gone from the house before, but it was always an uneasy feeling whenever he did.

He had obtained some sort of _job_, though Christine wasn't sure if that's what it was, exactly. What it entailed was him being mailed complex-looking blueprints. He would spend hours poring over them, scribbling things to the side or on the prints itself. Then he would write out a long, complicated letter and mail it all out again. For some prints, however, he said that they had to be "hand-delivered." They were rare, but when they happened, it was an anxious day with him gone from the house. Christine tidied up the front room, trying to distract herself, glancing out of the window every so often.

As she was straightening a table with pictures, she smiled at the one with Mia, grinning goofily at the camera with a smile that was missing several teeth. Then Christine remembered, and she set down the picture and went over to the stairs. Mia's door was still closed. She climbed the stairs again, but she did not knock before she entered.

"What are you doing?" she asked again, though it was with much less patience than before.

Mia was still by her dollhouse. Tanie was dressed up in an ugly orange dress, and Mia was calmly brushing her hair.

"Playing," Mia said.

"I asked you to clean up your mess downstairs and clean your room," Christine said. "Remember?"

"Yeah," Mia replied. She set Tanie aside and took another doll.

"Then why are you still here playing?"

"You didn't tell me I had to do it _now_," Mia said, the haughtiness in her voice evident.

"Well, then I'm telling you now," Christine said, trying to keep her voice even. "Put down your toys and clean up your mess. Do it right now."

After a moment of angry silence, Mia jumped to her feet and threw her doll to the ground. Huffing and crying out angrily, she stomped past Christine, making sure to bump into her on the way. Then she stormed down the stairs and into the kitchen. Christine followed, her arms folded, her brow scrunched.

Mia made the cleanup a very noisy affair. She slammed cupboard doors, made the chairs squeal when dragged across the floor, and ensured that there was as much noise as possible as she gathered up her stuff on the table, all the while grumbling and sighing angrily.

"Don't break anything," Christine said.

Mia gave Christine a glare that shocked her.

"Ok_ay_, I won't!" Mia shouted.

Just when Christine was about to respond, the sound of a door shutting echoed through the house. Without another word, Mia dropped her things and ran to Erik. Christine followed, still flustered and upset. Mia was tugging on Erik's coat and hands while he was attempting to shrug off his coat and remove his gloves.

"Of course, sweet," he said distractedly. When Mia released his hands, he pulled off his gloves quickly. It took another minute for him to be able to take off his coat and put it away, but when he did, he was able to step away from the door and into the front room, where all the girls in his life followed. He managed to detract himself from Mia long enough to greet Christine with a cold kiss to her forehead.

"How was your day, my darling?" he asked.

"It was—" she began, but Mia interrupted, tugging on Erik's pant leg.

"Papa!" she said loudly. "Papa, come see what I can play on the piano! Come see!"

"Actually," Christine said, her voice louder than Mia's (Christine was, after all, a trained opera singer), "Mia has some things to do before she can play anything."

"Oh? What things?" Erik looked at Mia, who scowled angrily.

"I have to clean my room," Mia muttered sourly.

"And don't forget your mess in the kitchen," Christine said, feeling a certain animosity toward her tiny daughter at the moment. Mia stood for a moment and then marched off. Christine could hear her gathering up her things in the kitchen, making it perfectly clear that she was not happy about it.

Christine looked toward Erik, who slowly took off his mask, revealing one raised eyebrow.

"Such a brat," he said calmly. "I distinctly remember you saying that children of ours would certainly _not _be brats."

Ayesha, who had not received any attention whatsoever, meowed loudly and stretched up toward Erik, who picked her up. "My jealous girl," he said, stroking her. She purred madly, rubbing herself on him as best she could. "So now I have a bratty girl and a jealous one." He looked at Christine. "And what does that make you, my dear?"

"Frustrated," Christine said simply. "I don't know what to do about her."

Erik shrugged and walked across the room to his piano. "Pick her up and shut her out of the room for a while." He chuckled to himself.

Christine glared. "You know what I'm talking about, Erik."

"Of course I do." He sat down on the bench and looked at the music that was resting on the stand.

Christine waited, but when it was clear he wasn't going to say anything, she asked, "So what do you think I should do?"

Erik was quiet for a while, humming absentmindedly as he continued to stroke Ayesha.

"Have I ever told you about Reza?" he suddenly asked quietly.

"Please don't change the subject, Erik," she sighed.

"I'm not," he said. "This is relevant. Have I?"

Christine thought. "No, I—I'm not even sure who Reza is."

"He was Nadir's son."

Christine sat down quickly, staring at Erik. Years ago, when Christine and Nadir were first acquainted, she had asked if he was married with any children. Nadir had not been fast enough to hide the look of immeasurable sorrow that overcame him as he said, "I was. Both my wife and son died years ago." And Christine had never asked him about it again.

"It was a very long time ago," Erik said, watching Christine from across the room. "I don't want to think about how long ago (it will make me a great deal older than I already am), but Reza would have been a grown man now, if he still were alive. Reza was around Mia's age. He was a very smart, polite boy. However, he had developed a form of cancer. It was terminal. There really was nothing to be done."

"That's terrible," Christine whispered. Whatever anger Christine felt toward Mia vanished on the spot. Simply _thinking _about losing her only child was more horrifying than anything else she could imagine.

"The cancer was also very painful," Erik said, as if Christine had not interrupted. "Reza was given so much medicine to stop the pain that he often slipped into unconsciousness. Soon he refused to take them, because he said that he wanted to spend time with his father and me. Nadir was in a terrible state. He had lost his wife some years before, and it had been a devastating time of his life. And he was losing his only child right before his eyes. He was inconsolable." He stopped a moment to run his hand down Ayesha, from head to tail. She arched under his fingers, purring contentedly.

"As the cancer progressed, it only worsened. Reza lost most of the feeling in his arms and legs. Soon after, he lost his vision. He was losing his ability to speak coherently as well. It was a terrible thing to see—the cancer eating him alive, steadily, creeping in, unstoppable. Nadir and I knew that his time was very close. I spoke to Nadir one evening. It was…the worst conversation I've ever had with anyone, and I have had some very bad conversations. But I'll always remember that one—his face." He paused for another moment. Christine listened, horrified. "There was nothing more to be done for Reza. So I killed him."

Christine felt a hot, sick swoop in her stomach and stared, terrified and shocked beyond belief. "What?" she whispered hoarsely. She had forgiven Erik for much in his past—perhaps too much—but his confession of murdering an innocent child was something that disgusted and frightened her.

"Perhaps that is not the best word, but it's true, to be frank," Erik said. "I spoke to Nadir. He agreed, though he was distraught over it. And so, after Nadir had said his final goodbye, I went into Reza's room one night and gave him a shot. He was sleeping, and he never woke up. It wasn't painful, it wasn't prolonged. It was similar to…" He looked down at Ayesha. "Putting an animal down, I suppose, though it isn't a good comparison, I realize. Reza was in so much pain. I did what I thought was best. I'm not sure what I think now…I only know that I thought it was right years ago. I wanted to make his death beautiful, Christine. I didn't want him to die in some sort of anaphylactic shock from some sort of drug or from a convulsing fit where he couldn't breathe anymore. Nadir didn't want his son to suffer any more than I did, but there was still some sort of hope in his heart that Reza would miraculously recover. He says he's forgiven me, but I've seen his eyes when he says that. I've seen the way he looks at Mia…" It was completely silent, save for the _tick tock _of the wall clock. Christine stared at her hands, unsure of what to feel. So many emotions were swirling around that it was unclear which one she should feel first.

A few moments later, the first one to hit her was pity. "That poor man," she said quietly. "I never realized…"

"He doesn't like speaking about it," Erik said unnecessarily. "We let that subject alone. It's painful for both of us." He sighed quietly. "And so, that was what happened the first time I felt any sort of parental connection with a child. I killed him."

"Please don't say it like that," Christine squeaked.

"Very well," Erik said. "But I hope you understand, my darling. If you hoped I was wiser than you in matters of parenting, you're mistaken. I am learning right alongside you. And I'm sorry if it disappoints you, but I never had another opportunity. But perhaps I could draw examples from my own parents."

Christine knew what was coming, and she looked down at her hands once more. They were pink from the pressure she was exerting on them.

"Yes…If I was disobedient, my mother beat me." He was speaking as if it was a very fond memory, and it chilled Christine to the core. "It did not take very long for me to be subservient. She was very smart. Sometimes she would beat me for no other reason _except _to make sure that I continued to be obedient. And do you wish to know the most pitiful thing about it? I still loved my mother. I still worshiped her like she was some great, beautiful goddess. I told myself that I deserved her hatred and scorn, being the monster that I am."

"Stop it!" Christine cried, covering her face with her hands. It literally hurt to hear about his childhood. "Please, just…stop."

He fell silent. Christine released a shuddering breath into her hands, her eyes shut tight. Something touched her arm, and she jumped and looked. He was kneeling in front of her, Ayesha left by the piano (and looking very upset about it).

"I simply want you to understand," he said quietly. He took her hands and pressed them to his thin lips. "I have no answers. As much as it shames me to admit, I have nothing to offer you."

"That's not true," Christine said weakly. She forced herself to smile. "You have yourself, and that's more than I ever dreamed for."

"Ah yes," he said. "An old, broken man with nothing but horror in his past."

"You have your music," she said, unwilling to let him degrade himself anymore. "And your stories, and your love. And in case you didn't know, that's more than most men can give."

He kissed her hands again. "The eyes see what they wish to see," he murmured.

"Maybe," she said simply. "But I'm happy with what I see. I love what I see."

"I should hope so," he said gravely. Then he forced a small smile to match hers. "What would you like me to do for you? I'll do anything you wish." He stood and looked around. "Music? Shall I play for you?"

"Actually, would you read to me?" she asked, looking at the bookshelf.

"Of course, my love." He went over and examined some titles. "What is it you want to hear?"

She thought. "I think I'd like something by Shakespeare."

He pulled out a book and returned. She shifted so he could sit next to her, and he opened the book.

"_Macbeth_?" she said, a genuine smile on her lips.

He shrugged. "It's a good piece of work. Now be silent as I read."

They sat for a while, content in each other's presence, Erik's voice swirling around them. She leaned against his shoulder and listened quietly as he transported her away, into Shakespeare's world.

When it was dark outside the window, she saw Mia in the room, watching them quietly. Christine smiled a little at her, but Mia simply listened quietly as Erik read. Then, with the same indifferent attitude, she walked over to the bookshelf, stretched up on her toes, and pulled off her book of fairytales. Holding it tightly, she walked over to Erik and held it out to him. He ignored it and continued to read.

"_But signs of nobleness, like stars, shall shine on all deservers. From hence to—_yes, _what_, Mia?"

Mia had put the book on his lap and climbed into it. She sat and held the book up.

"Read this," she said.

"Perhaps later," Erik said. "I'm reading to your mother right now."

"But I don't like it," Mia whined. "I want you to read this!"

"You're going to have to be patient," Erik said shortly. He looked back at the book. "_From hence to Inverness, and bind us further to you."_

Mia sat for a moment, looking shocked, and then slid down from his lap. There was a split-second of silence in which Mia's face scrunched up in preparation, and Christine cringed. Without further ado, Mia let out an almighty wail and threw the book to the ground.

"I hate that book!" Mia shrieked. "I want this one!" She stomped her little feet and shook her head, still screaming as if in some sort of terrible pain.

Erik stood up and said calmly, "If you cannot control yourself, you must go to your room until you can."

Mia bawled, "I hate it here!" and ran out, sobbing hysterically.

Then Erik sat down and began to read again, as if nothing at all had happened.

"_The rest is labor, which is not used for you: I'll be myself—_now what are you doing?"

Christine stood and went over to the little desk. She opened the laptop and clicked open a new Internet window. "Enough is enough," Christine said. "I'm going to see what's wrong with her."

"Nothing is wrong with her," Erik said, closing the book and standing as well. "She's simply a spoiled, selfish little girl. There are millions of them."

Christine flipped through windows titled things like _Behavior of Eight Year-Olds _and _Middle Childhood Development Guide. _The more she read, the more she paled.

"Erik!" she gasped. "We need to take her to her pediatrician!"

"What?" He laughed and went over to read over her shoulder.

"Look!" Christine said, pointing. "She might have ADHD, or ADD, or bipolar disorder, or—"

To her surprise, he laughed again. "Christine, she is fine. She's simply a little girl."

"But there might be something wrong," Christine said, biting her lip worriedly.

"No," Erik said firmly. "No. I may not be much of a father, but I won't allow myself to believe that simply because she had a tantrum she needs to have pills stuck down her throat. People today are insane—running for medication every time someone sneezes! It's a miracle we're still alive! So stop reading that, you'll work yourself into a frenzy." He shut the laptop. "Medication and pills aren't the answer."

Christine rubbed her face tiredly. "I know," she said. "I'm just not sure how much I can stand."

He put his hands on her shoulders, enveloping them easily with his spider-like fingers. "You're the most patient woman I know," he said. "It will be fine."

Christine reached up to take his fingers in her hand. She was just going to thank him when there was a _thump _from the stairs. Then another, and another, and another, a rhythmic _thump thump thump _that made her stand and go see what was happening. Erik followed.

Mia was dragging her little pink suitcase down the stairs. Her coat and shoes were on, and there was a look of fierce determination on her face.

"What are you doing, Mia?" Christine asked.

"I'm running away," Mia announced, tugging her suitcase down a few more steps.

"Where are you going to go?" Erik asked. He looked very calm, as if this didn't trouble him at all.

"To Uncle Nadir's," Mia said. "I hate it here." She got to the bottom of the stairs and glared up at them, obviously angry that they weren't protesting her leaving.

"Well, let me see what you are taking to make sure you're prepared," Erik said. He knelt down and flipped open the suitcase, revealing a jumble of toys, books, and an extra shirt. "Oh dear," he said. "I'm afraid this won't do at all. Let me help you." He picked up the suitcase and went back upstairs. Mia gave an indignant shout and followed him. Christine, feeling the desire to laugh and worry at the same time, climbed the stairs as well.

Erik set the suitcase down on the bed and pulled everything out. "Now, sweetest, let me show you. It's starting to get cold, so you will need more clothing than this." He quickly and neatly packed said items. Mia stood staring, as if she couldn't believe her eyes.

"And perhaps some paper and a pencil, should you feel like writing us," Erik said, taking some from Mia's little desk and putting it in as well. "Tell us how you're doing from time to time. And perhaps you can manage one or two toys." After putting some in, he closed the suitcase and carried it downstairs. "If you ask nicely, I'm sure your mother wouldn't mind making something for you to eat on the way."

Mia folded her arms and obstinately looked away. Erik shrugged. "Very well," he said. He set the suitcase down by the door. "Don't let us keep you."

The look of shock returned to Mia's pale features. She stared at the suitcase and then grasped it with a trembling hand. Giving one look to her mother and father and looking very much in danger of bursting into tears, she opened the door, stepped out, and closed it behind her. Christine stared at it, almost disbelieving. Erik, however, went over to the closet and pulled out his coat and gloves. After slipping them on, he took his mask from the pocket and tied it on.

"I should be back in about fifteen minutes," he said simply. He walked over to the door, saw Christine's face, and laughed a little. "With your daughter, I assure you." Then he was gone as well. She went to the window and tried to spot him, but it was dark, and she knew that Erik simply blended into the night. There was nothing to do but wait. She sat down on the couch and tapped her foot, glancing at the clock every few minutes. She had no doubt that Erik would bring Mia back—but it didn't stop her from worrying. She could almost imagine the scene in her head: Erik, following Mia silently, watching as she pulled her little suitcase down the long, lonely street, in all likelihood crying. Mia would walk for a while longer, sit down on the side of the road, and dissolve into hysterical tears. And then Erik would emerge and comfort her as best he could. Christine wondered what he would say to her to make her feel better. But then again, neither of them knew what it was, exactly, that she was so upset about all the time…

Ayesha sat on the windowsill, flicking her tail back and forth, waiting for Erik to return, just like Christine. Feeling a little embarrassed to always be doing the same thing as a cat, Christine stood and picked up the fallen books, returning them to the shelf. Then she went to make sure that the kitchen was clean up to her standards. Christine took pride in her home. She liked it neat. It was anyone's guess as to how Mia had developed a general lack of care about cleanliness; both Erik and Christine were tidy people.

As she cleaned, she tried not to think too much about her worries. She was patient, yes, but she could easily work herself into hysterics if allowed to do so, especially about Mia.

Two years previously, Mia had developed a mild case of pneumonia, and it had frightened Christine out of her wits. A mere, weak comment such as, "_Maman, _my chest hurts" would send tears into Christine's eyes. So Erik had banned her from Mia's sickroom, saying that she would only upset the both of them. He reassured her constantly that Mia would be all right, but Christine always shot back, "How do you know? You don't know if she's all right!"

And it was the same with Mia's change in mood. Her mind continued to wander back to the websites she had read earlier that evening. The possible problems ran through her head, and she glanced back at the desk. The laptop rested on it plaintively. Perhaps she would go back and finish reading the article…

No, she argued with herself. No, Erik told you not to read it. You'll only worry yourself.

But it could be something dangerous, she whispered. Something could be wrong with your daughter.

Erik says she's a normal child, Christine told herself firmly.

But even Erik admitted that he doesn't know what to do about her. It isn't as if he's been surrounded by children his entire life. He doesn't know what he's doing.

Christine bit her lip and took a few steps toward the laptop, as if it was a bright, pretty flame, and she a helpless, ugly moth.

Please, don't, she begged herself. You're only going to upset yourself. Mia's a perfect little girl.

You'll be cursing yourself if she grows and develops problems because you didn't catch it early.

She stepped around the desk and reached for the laptop, all the while screaming at herself to get away from it. _Just a few more minutes reading_. _Not very long. It's all right. I just need to see…_

As she was dragging the pointer to the Internet icon, she heard the door open and literally breathed a sigh of relief. Shutting the laptop with defiant triumph, she turned and went to the door.

Mia was up in his arms, her arms around his neck, her head on his shoulder. He carried her little suitcase in one hand and gently shut the door with his foot. Christine hurried forward and took the luggage from him.

"Thank you," he said graciously. He then climbed the stairs to Mia's bedroom, entered, and laid her in the bed, as softly as he could, for she was asleep already. She curled up into the soft blankets, sighing. Christine noticed dried tear tracks down her pale cheeks. She put the suitcase down and left the room.

"Well?" she whispered when Erik had shut the door. He led the way to their bedroom, quietly shutting the door behind them.

"Well?" Christine repeated, though she used her normal speaking voice. Erik took off his coat, gloves, and mask, placing them all on the divan. He then straightened suddenly and looked at her.

"I just realized that I've not yet kissed you today," he said, frowning.

"Lots of other couples don't kiss every single day. It happens a lot in marriages, actually," Christine said, shrugging a little.

"It does not happen in mine," he said. He walked over, placed his hands on her waist, and kissed her sweetly.

"All right, you've kissed me," Christine said when he pulled away. "Now will you tell me what happened?"

"Of course." He sat down on the edge of the bed, and Christine sat next to him. He gathered her hands up and traced the blue veins visible beneath her skin. "I followed her a short distance. She sat down and began to cry, and I sat next to her. Then I asked her what she was upset over. And she told me, quite passionately, that I hated her. I asked her where she got such a ridiculous thought." He reached up and touched some of her curls. "She said, sobbing fit to burst, that I loved you much more than I loved her, and that I had never wanted her, and that it was better if she ran away so I wouldn't have to be her father anymore and I could spend all my time with you." He let a few curly tendrils slide through his fingers.

"What?" Christine said.

"She's very jealous of you," Erik said, almost carelessly.

"What did you tell her?" Christine asked.

"What do you think?" he said, "Of course I reassured her. I told her that she had no need to be jealous. I told her that we both care about her very much. I told her all sorts of _father _things. They sounded very normal to me. And she came back with me. It really wasn't very interesting."

"What did she say to you?" Christine asked. She sighed and pushed his fingers away when they traced her mouth. "Erik?"

"She told me she was sorry for being an obnoxious little brat—something to that effect. And she promised to apologize to you tomorrow. Now let me touch you." He brought his fingers back to her face.

"That's good," she said, resisting the urge to swat his hand away. Not that it didn't feel nice: she simply wanted to talk to him without the hindrance of his fingers in front of her. "I hope things will be better after this. It has been a completely awful past few months."

He made a noise in his throat to show he was sympathetic.

"I tried to be patient with her," Christine said. "I hope I did the right thing. Being a wife and mother is really hard work."

"I would imagine," he murmured, pulling his fingers across her jaw.

"It really is a learning process," she continued. "You really can't just pick up a book that will tell you the answers. And I've tried, but it's really just a learning experience all the way. I think you know that as well. I mean, look what you did tonight! And you just told me an hour ago that you don't know anything about being a father. I think what you did was very normal, and very good."

"Mm," he said.

"And it really isn't a mean feat being _your_ wife—oh, I love it! But I'm still learning new things about you all the time. I mean, you still have stories I've never heard before. Like today, when you told me about Nadir and his poor son. And just the other day, when you said that—"

"Would you be quiet and kiss me already?" he interrupted loudly.

She blinked, looked at him, smiled, laughed, and did as he said. And, perhaps only for a little while, she ceased to worry about the problems ahead. She knew that she would be able to face them confidently, as long as Erik was with her.


	5. Chapter 5

Christine sank gratefully into the chair in the front living room and listened to Erik play for her. Her eyes were aching with tiredness, and she closed them briefly, reveling in the peace that always came with Erik's music.

It had been an extremely hectic past few months. Christine had finally returned to the stage, much to the world's delight. As such, the world had insisted that Christine visit everyone. She had just spent a month touring Western Europe, followed by a huge performance in New York City. Although her next production wasn't due to start rehearsal for another two weeks, she couldn't help but wish that the world was little less demanding of her. Christine's next show was in a large city about an hour away, meaning that she would be gone from the house for extensive hours for rehearsals.

Mia had also started eighth grade only a few days after they returned, a tricky stage, and she had been glum and moody throughout Christine's tour. Erik hadn't been particularly helpful, either. He found Mia's behavior 'childish' and 'pitiful,' but all the while he glowered himself. Then Mia had caused them to miss their flight back, claiming she had lost her diary and wouldn't go anywhere without it. The hustle of holiday travelers had only served all of their already-short tempers. Then they were forced to make a detour to Nadir's home and pick up Ayesha, who was very affronted to have been left with a strange man. She was not in a gracious mood during the trip.

All in all, they were grateful to return home.

When Christine was lying in bed that night, she realized with some horror that she was really and truly grown up. She was a wife and mother with a busy career. And as she remembered her time as a young girl, singing with her father, she couldn't help but long for those days, when her father would protect and care for her, no matter what happened.

Erik shifted in his sleep, instinctively drawing her close. It startled her slightly, and she looked at him and smiled, her unease fading away. He always promised to love and protect her, _no matter what happened_. Her smile growing, she snuggled into his embrace and fell asleep as well.

She smiled again as she watched him play.

They sat for a while longer, and Christine was just considering asking to sing with him when a terrible cacophony of sound from Mia's bedroom drifted downstairs. A voice was screaming, the words unintelligible, and the ear-grating mix of drums and shrieking electric guitar didn't help much.

Erik nearly fell off the bench, and Ayesha streaked into the room, trying to get away from the sound. All dignity aside, Erik clapped his palms over his ears and bellowed, "_WHAT THE DEVIL IS THAT NOISE?"_

Christine looked up the stairs toward Mia's bedroom, the door completely shut but the noise still coming from it. Erik started toward it immediately.

Sensing danger, Christine pushed him back, shouted, "Stay there! I'll take care of it!" and hurried up the stairs to her teenage daughter's bedroom.

Mia had never listened to that kind of music before. That kind of music had never been allowed in the house. How and where she got it was a mystery to be solved at a later date. The most important thing was to shut it off before Erik came and ripped up whatever was playing it.

She opened the door and heard a quick, "Go away! I don't want you in here!"

Ignoring it completely, she looked around and spotted the offending machine: Mia's CD player. Practically running, she went over and stopped it with the push of a button. Christine sighed with relief before turning to her daughter.

"Mia, you know you can't play music like—" She stopped short. Hot, angry tears were spilling over Mia's cheeks, smearing makeup that had been clumsily applied. Mia wasn't allowed to wear makeup yet, and Christine spotted her own makeup back sitting on the vanity. The soprano was completely and utterly nonplussed. She had no idea what to do.

"Dear, is everything all right?" she asked hesitantly.

"Yeah!" Mia snapped, wiping tears away and smudging more makeup around her face. "I'm fine!"

Christine looked around wildly for inspiration. She seized a box of tissues and approached. "Here, let me clean you up, and then we can talk about it, okay?"

"I don't want to talk about it!" Mia shrieked, pushing away Christine's hands. "Just leave me alone!"

It was Christine's first experience with the infamous teenage tantrum, and it was more terrible than she had imagined.

"Mia, sweet, why are you so upset?" Christine said softly, all the while her heart beating rapidly.

"Go away!" Mia shouted. "You don't know anything, just go away!"

The door opened, and Erik stalked in, looking murderous. Mia quieted instantly when Erik raised a threatening finger. Erik was hardly ever _truly _been angry with his daughter. He adored her far too much. However, it was obvious when he was upset, and Mia always knew. And when he was upset, she shut her mouth and didn't press any issue.

"If you _ever _speak to your mother that way again—" he began dangerously.

"Darling, please," Christine said, pulling his hand down. "It's fine, I'm handling it."

"You are _not_—" he started again, but Christine interrupted him a second time.

"Please. Just go."

He gave another angry glance at Mia, who trembled slightly, and then did as Christine told him, though he made his anger known by slamming the door loudly on his way out. Christine rolled her eyes; it was hard enough dealing with _one _diva…

Erik's sudden appearance appeared to have shocked Mia a little, because she wasn't shouting anymore. She just looked tired and upset. Shaking, she sat on her beautiful bed and stared glumly at the floor. Christine took the tissues, knelt in front of her, and began wiping away the makeup and tears.

"Now, sweetest, tell me what's wrong," Christine said softly.

"I just—I just—" Her lower lip trembled, and she burst into tears again. "I hate being me!" she sobbed.

Alarmed, Christine sat on the bed and cradled her tiny daughter in her arms. "Why do you say that?" she asked, trying not to betray the panic and alarm she felt.

"Look at me!" Mia wailed. "I'm so ugly! No one at school likes me, you and Daddy hate me, and I can't do anything at all!"

"What?" Christine furrowed her brow. "Who gave you such ridiculous thoughts? You're a beautiful, talented, wonderful girl, and your father and I love you more than anything!"

"I'm stupid!" Mia insisted. "I can't even do stupid, stupid math!"

When Christine looked, she saw an open algebra textbook on Mia's cluttered desk and a little smidgeon of understanding came.

For all of Mia's talents and intelligence, math had always managed to confuse her. She was fine while in elementary school; she grasped the simple concepts of addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division, but then the concepts started getting a bit more complex, and she began having trouble. Soon she hated math with a bitter passion, something Erik could not understand. He spent many painstaking hours teaching, explaining, re-explaining, re-teaching, drawing models for her, giving examples, even going so far as to compare math with music. But it seemed Mia was stubborn and either refused to understand or simply did not. Erik warned that she would not understand if she did even attempt to, but there was simply something not clicking in her brain. It was always a very stressful time when math tests and exams came around.

Christine stroked her hair softly. "Mia, you are your father's daughter. You are _smart_—much smarter than I am already. You are—"

"But you're pretty!" Mia went on. "You're so pretty, and I'm just small and ugly."

Mia was in the awkward stage of transition from little girl to young woman, and Christine could understand that. She smiled a little and said,

"You're beautiful, darling. Everyone goes through this stage. It's hard, but it will pass, and you'll come out of it as a stunning young woman."

"You have to say that because you're my mom," Mia said sullenly.

"I'm saying it because it's true," Christine said calmly. She suddenly frowned and pulled Mia a little closer. "I'm sorry about this past month. I know it was a little crazy. It'll take me a couple of months to get used to juggling a family and a career. But you will always, _always _come first. I'd give up singing in a heartbeat if you asked."

Mia let out a weak laugh that sounded more like a hiccough. "Like Daddy would ever let you."

"Your father likes to pretend he has more control than he really does," Christine said delicately. Then she smirked a little. "Would you like to know a secret?"

Mia sniffed and nodded, looking up at her with watery, red eyes.

"Your father may think that he's in charge of this house, but it's really me," Christine whispered conspiratorially. "Don't look at me like that, it's true! He would do anything I asked him. Do you think he was happy that I stopped singing for so long? When you were ten, he was practically dragging me to the theatre, but I wanted to wait a little longer. I told him so, and he was upset, but he allowed it."

"I remember that," Mia piped up. "He didn't come out of his room for, like, days. He wouldn't even come out to help me on a song I was learning. But I never knew why he was so mad."

"Yes, he had given in to me," Christine said, sighing dramatically and allowing her voice to become normal once more. "Again and again. But the point, dear, is that if you asked it, I'd quit singing right now so I could be there for you." Christine was quiet for a minute. "Would you like me to do that?"

Mia thought for a moment (Christine's heart was pounding wildly and she suddenly wondered why she had made such a stupid promise) and then shook her head, leaning into Christine a little more.

"I like watching you perform," Mia whispered, her voice muffled by Christine's shoulder. "And I get to go to lots of cool places."

Christine smiled with relief. "All right, it's settled. But you just let me know otherwise, all right?"

Mia drew back and lay down on the bed, hugging her pillows to her tightly and sighing. Christine pressed a kiss to her forehead, collected her makeup bag, and left the room.

When she opened the door, she jumped a little at the sight of her husband. Erik wasn't even pretending _not _to eavesdrop. He waited impatiently for the door to close and then tugged her to their bedroom.

"Well?" he demanded.

She went to put her makeup bag away, and Erik followed.

"Well what?" she said, turning to face him.

"You promised you'd give up singing for her if she asked?"

"Of course," Christine said at once. "She's my daughter. I don't want her to feel like she's second to my career."

"But what did she say?"

Christine raised an eyebrow and then went over to grab her nightclothes. "You didn't hear?"

"No," he said, sounding miffed.

"You're getting old," she laughed. She dug out his nightclothes as well and tossed them at him.

"I've always been old," he stated plainly, watching her.

"Not old enough to miss out on important parts of conversation," Christine said, smiling and pulling her pajamas on. "You have the best hearing out of anyone I know."

"That's not the point," Erik said angrily. He struggled with his nightshirt for a second, clearly irritated. Christine came over, still smiling, and helped. He emerged with tousled hair and a glum expression, and she couldn't help but laugh as she kissed him.

"She said she didn't mind me singing," Christine finally confessed. "She's even excited about traveling."

"She won't be going anywhere while she's in school," Erik said firmly, redoing some buttons on his shirt. "Your career will not interfere with her education."

"Of course," Christine replied honestly. "I wouldn't dream of it."

"Likewise, her education will not interfere with your career." He bent down and picked up the clothes scattered on the floor.

"What do you mean?" she asked, turning the sheets down on the bed.

"If you're performing somewhere, you won't be coming back to see her in a recital, or to go to one of those inane parent-teacher meetings, or to comfort her when some idiot is snide to her." The clothes put away, he returned to the bed.

She was quiet while they both climbed in. Frowning slightly, she scooted closer and curled against his chest, gripping his shirt lightly.

"This—this sounds hard, Erik," she confessed, looking up at him. "I want to be there for Mia, but I don't want to quit singing. I don't want to do both halfway. And you! How are you going to do this? How can you be with me and help me and be with her as well?"

He pressed his lips to her forehead. "You worry so," he said. It was obvious he was tired, for his voice was drowsy. "We'll be fine." He pulled her in a little tighter.

"If you think—ah!" She gasped. "Erik, your feet are freezing!"

Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. "What do you want me to do about it?" he said lazily.

"Put some socks on, or—or something," she said, shivering.

"I hate sleeping with socks. And I'm freezing everywhere else, if you didn't know by now. _You, _however, are quite warm. Come here."

She wiggled as he pulled her even closer. "You're stealing all my warmth!" she complained.

"You have more than enough to share," he sighed. His eyes closed again, and Christine sighed huffily, wondering how she gave in to him again and again, and it was all willingly. She took another look at him before closing her eyes as well and smiling.

"I guess it's not that hard to understand," she murmured absentmindedly and then felt embarrassed because she had said it aloud.

"What?" he grunted.

"Why you always have it your way," she said. She kept her eyes closed and knew that he did the same, both drifting off into sleep. "You're hard to resist, Erik. You're just too cute."

"I've been called many things in my life," he replied, his voice slurring. "And that has never been one of them."

"Well, add it to the list, because you are." She smiled, and they both fell asleep.

* * *

"Again."

Christine listened from the kitchen as a tricky melody came from the piano. It was short, demanding, and fast, and Erik demanded absolute perfection. Near the end of the piece, the notes fumbled.

"Again."

His voice was cool and clipped; he was in a foul mood, and Christine sighed as she pulled out the little dessert puffs she was making. Neither of them liked to be interrupted while they were having a lesson, but Christine wanted to go and tell her husband to stop being such a grouch and deal with it.

The "it" was a sleepover that Mia was having. A friend from her school would be arriving soon to spend the night. Mia had been to a few sleepovers, but she had never had one at her own house, for reasons understandable to everyone except those who didn't live in the house.

Christine couldn't understand why Erik was so averse—well, she could, but nothing terrible was going to happen. When Mia's friends were over for an afternoon or Saturday, Erik simply retreated to his study to wait them out.

"Again."

There was a pause before the piece began, a clear indication that Mia was growing irritated as well. She did not complain to her father about the way he taught. She never questioned what he told her to do, and she knew better than to whine. Christine was sure that he would keep her at it until the doorbell rang.

Trying to lift her mood a little (she would need to be charming enough to Mia's friend and try to get the girl to forget about the absence of Mia's father), she began to sing softly, cutting little holes in the top of the puffs and scooping in peaches and syrup.

It being the Christmas holidays, Christine was enjoying a few weeks of rest. She never performed around Christmastime. There were no special concerts or special appearances. There was no singing for charities or galas. Christine had even (politely, she hoped) declined the invitation from a world-renowned choir to be their special guest at a holiday concert. Christmas, she would always say, was her time to spend with her family, and she would not give it up. She had eleven other months to perform. The world could do without her for thirty-one days.

A meowing at her ankles brought her out of her reverie. She looked down to see the cat staring up at her, its pale-blue eyes wide.

"We're both pathetic, you know," Christine said, smiling. She often spoke to Ayesha, for the cat had the same devotion to Erik that Christine did. And although she never told Erik about those secret chats with his feline, Christine continued them year after year.

"We're so needy," Christine said, pulling out more puffs from the oven and repeating the procedure. "He leaves us alone for an hour and we go crazy. Look at me—I've been baking this stuff all afternoon as a distraction, and I don't even like it. Mia does, though."

Ayesha meowed, her eyes following Christine's hands as they fixed the dessert.

"I can't give this to you," Christine said, waving a piece of peach at the cat. "It'd make you sick, and then Erik would get upset. Go find something else to do." She nudged the cat with her toe. "Go on."

With an indignant flick of her tail that plainly said she was not to be kicked like that, Ayesha strutted from the kitchen.

It was very warm in the room, and it smelled wonderful. While home, Christine liked to cook as much as possible, almost as if to make up for all of those meals she missed while performing. She was quite good at it, too, thanks to years and years of practice. And as she added a dollop of whipped cream onto each puff, she smiled and sang some more.

"Excuse me."

She turned to see Erik in the kitchen, his arms folded, glaring sourly.

"Yes?" she asked, though she knew perfectly well what he was going to say. She innocently sucked some whipped cream off of her finger.

"I'm trying to give a lesson," he said. "You're very distracting."

"What, my singing?" she asked, turning back around to finish the dessert.

"Yes," he said bluntly.

"Well, ex_cuse _me, Mr. Pill," she said. "I'll just be silent in the kitchen and cook like a good little wife. No more speaking unless I'm spoken to."

Mia began playing the piece again, picking it apart slowly, and that gave some cover for Christine to turn around and say, frowning,

"Why are you being so mean to her?"

"'_Mean'_?" he repeated incredulously. "I'm giving her a lesson. She's being lazy and distracted."

"She's fine. You're just sulking. Again."

"Oh?" he said crossly. "And what am I sulking about _this _time, my _dear?_"

"Mia's sleepover tonight."

"I think I have a right to be angry about being chased up to my study for an entire night."

"No one's making you go, Erik," Christine said. She carried the dessert over the refrigerator and carefully began putting them in. "You'd be more than welcome to stay down here. I've told you that a thousand times, but you always insist on playing the martyr. Mia wants you with her."

"I'm doing it for _her_!" he burst angrily. "Do you think some idiot teenage girl will understand this?" He gestured to his unmasked face. "Do you think she won't notice the fact that I wear a mask?"

"A big 'no' to both questions," Christine said. "But if we act like it's a big deal, it will be. _I _don't notice it anymore, and that's because I don't spend all my time thinking about it. But you always have to bring it up, like it's something that _no one _will understand and _no one _will accept. Well, when's the last time you actually tested that theory, love? I think I'll remind you—the last time someone saw your face when you didn't want them to, that certain someone fell in love with you. People might be more understanding than you think."

"Don't be a fool," he hissed. "You know just as well as I that there's no room in society for a monster like I am. I'm not doing this for myself—I know very well what will happen. I'm doing it for my daughter. I refuse to let her be judged because of me."

"How do you know that's not exactly what she wants?" Christine asked hotly.

When he opened his mouth to argue, a loud banging of chords came from the front room.

"Would you guys shut up and stop arguing about me like I can't even hear you?" Mia hollered. "Geez, you two are bigger drama queens than I am! And I'm _supposed _to be the drama queen in the house! I'm a teenage girl! You two are adults! So act like it!" And she started playing again.

The two adults in the kitchen stared at one another. Christine raised an eyebrow and smiled, just a little.

"We are her parents," Erik said lowly. "She shouldn't speak to us like that."

"Probably not, but she's got a point," Christine said. She went over and hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry."

His arms came around her back. "I apologize as well," he said.

Pulling back slightly, she looked up at him, resting her chin on his chest. She felt guilty for trying to minimize and gloss over Erik's past pain because of his face. He didn't like speaking of it, but Christine knew that it was horrid, and it still haunted him. Wanting to make up for it somehow, she offered, "Why don't I leave Mia and her friend alone, and I spend the evening with you instead?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "As charming as that sounds," he said, brushing some of her hair back, "I'd like everyone alive tomorrow morning."

"You're probably right," she said, grinning.

"You will simply have to make it up to me some other way."

"Do you want me to sing for you?" she asked.

The corner of his mouth twitched a little. "Not exactly."

She rolled her eyes, giggling. "I get it." Quickly, she leaned up and pressed her lips to his.

She loved kissing him. He was so sweet about it. He liked to tangle his fingers into her hair and press her closer, and her knees would buckle slightly, but his hand on her back would support—

"Ugh, man, you guys are so gross."

Erik pulled back instantly, and Christine turned to see Mia in the refrigerator, looking interestedly at the peach puffs resting there.

"Weirdos, too, you know," Mia continued. She pulled out a puff and stuck it in her mouth.

Feeling flustered and warm, Christine tried to quell the embarrassment in her cheeks. Not that Mia hadn't ever seen them kissing before—but it was always just a little awkward when she did. She had always felt that her physical relationship with Erik was something very private, and she knew he felt that way as well.

"One minute you're arguing," Mia said thickly, her voice distorted by the dessert in her mouth, "and the next you're making out all over the place." She took out a second puff. Christine wanted to tell her to stop eating the dessert, that she would spoil her appetite, but she didn't.

"We weren't—ah—" Erik said delicately. Christine could hear embarrassment in his voice as well.

"Whatever, Daddy, I saw it," Mia said, completely nonchalant about it all. She ate the other puff. "You know, it's always really weird to see you guys together when you think you're alone. You're like teenagers—me excluded. All you do is touch and kiss and make goo-goo eyes. No one who's normal does that." She put another dessert in her mouth.

"We're married," Christine said. "It's perfectly normal." Then she felt incredibly stupid for having this discussion at all. It was apparent Erik felt the same way. His hand twitched against her arm.

"No it's not," Mia calmly insisted. She went and grabbed a clean glass before filling it with milk. "I've seen my friends' parents. They drink coffee and watch TV whenever we walk by the front room and they're alone. I can't leave you guys alone for two seconds."

"This—isn't an appropriate conversation for a fourteen year-old," Erik said, trying not to sound embarrassed, though he obviously was.

"We wouldn't be having it if you guys could lay off each other for more than ten minutes," Mia said, shrugging. She drank her milk, wiped her mouth with her sleeve (Christine grimaced), and put the glass away.

"Of course we can," Christine said indignantly, frowning and feeling defiant.

Mia actually laughed. "Okay. Right." She looked at the clock on the wall. "Josie is coming in a few minutes," she said. "Can I show her your study, Daddy? It's really cool. She'd like it."

He was apparently a little taken aback by the sudden change in topic. He said, "If—well—well, your mother will have to—have to be there to make sure she doesn't touch anything."

Mia said, "That's chill."

Erik stared.

"It means okay," Mia said, huffing and walking out of the kitchen. As she was leaving, she muttered,

"I have the weirdest parents in the world…"


	6. Chapter 6

Erik paced. He sat down, stared at the clock, stood, and began to pace again. Christine watched him from the desk, trying to muffle her laughter that was welling up in her throat. The clock ticked ominously. A few minutes passed, Erik sat himself down at the piano, playing a fast, ugly-sounding chord progression that rang through the entire house. Without stopping, he immediately dove into a piece. It was similar to his chord progression—impossibly fast and full of wrong-sounding notes that Christine knew were right. She could only endure a minute.

"Erik—please. It's giving me a headache."

He stopped immediately, though he _hmmphed _with displeasure as he stood. His long arms folded across his thin chest, and he tapped his foot impatiently.

"How much longer?" he snapped. "He's late."

Christine sighed and set aside the letter she was reading. "Mia said he was going to get here at seven," she said patiently, repeating what she must have said a thousand times over the last three days. "He still has ten minutes. Sit down and relax."

"Don't use that tone with me," he said, his voice curt. They were both silent. Erik was staring at the curtained window, behind which snow was falling. "He might not come…" he said hopefully. And then he snarled, "If he ever dared to disappoint her, I'd crush him."

With a hidden smile, Christine returned to her letter.

…_And your performance as Gilda brought me to tears…_

She wanted to go upstairs and see if Mia needed anything, but she sensed, with another furtive glance at her tense, emotionally-wrought husband, that his need was just a bit greater than hers. Mia had seemed quite calm about it. She told her parents over dinner, ignoring her father's increasingly suspicious questions. Christine was quite enthused, and that night they had giggled together happily while Erik glowered in another room.

Erik sighed loudly, and Christine jumped, startled a little, and returned to her letter.

…_I had never cared about opera before, but your performances inspired me, and now I can't get enough…_

That night hadn't even been over when Erik's nature was, once again, brought out. He wheedled and promised away, trying to persuade his daughter to stay home, saying he'd perform for her, teach her—even take her to the opera like she loved, but Mia had shrugged, laughed, and said she was excited. Erik had even gone so far as to promise her a holiday _out of the country_, and Mia had looked supremely tempted by that. But Christine stepped in and whispered to her daughter that he would do that regardless. Erik didn't speak to her that night. He seemed to think she was letting go of their daughter far too easily, that Christine didn't care about her.

"Of course I care," Christine had said the previous evening. She snuggled up against his thin frame. "But she's sixteen, Erik. She should have started dating a year ago. You don't want her feeling left out, do you? This is important to her—she's excited."

He _hmmphed_.

Christine reached out and gently ran her fingertips over his face. As she traced his thin lips, she said, "You know how she gets about her looks. This is good for her."

"Her looks…" Erik glared at the ceiling. "She's perfect, like you, and beautiful, just like you. She only needs see what an abomination she has for a father, and then her _looks _will improve dramatically."

"Don't do that," Christine said firmly, her fingers stopping as she propped herself up to look at him and peer angrily into his eyes. "I hate it when you insult yourself, and I've told you a million times. Besides, this isn't about you. This is about Mia. So stop griping, and don't be a grouch tomorrow. Don't ruin it for her. She's going to upset if she knows you really don't want her to go."

Erik took the advice very grudgingly, but perhaps it was only because Christine had started fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

It was five to seven, and Christine hadn't been able to read another word of her letter. Erik's mood was infectious, and she was starting to feel a little anxious herself. They both stared as the clock ticked away a minute, two, three…

Christine bit her lip and silently willed him to come faster. Being late would not make a good impression on Erik, who was already impossible to impress. And then seven o' clock came and went. Erik rounded on Christine, as if it was her fault.

"He's late," Erik hissed, pointing unnecessarily at the clock with one long, bony finger.

"I know," Christine said calmly. "You know how teenagers are today."

"I don't," he said nastily. "I only know Mia, and she would never dare be late to anything."

"That's because you're her father," Christine said, sighing as she stood from the desk. She walked over to the stairs and called up. "Mia? It's past seven!"

"I know!" she shouted back from her room. The door was open, and music was floating out of it. Christine was glad that Mia had chosen to listen to _La Juive _instead of the latest pop single. She wasn't sure that Erik could take anymore strain.

"Well?" Christine said, her voice growing louder as the orchestration swelled. "What's keeping him?"

"I don't know, Mom. It's only 7:05! Geez, you guys are so old-fashioned. It's not a big deal! He'll be here in a couple minutes."

Christine sighed and returned to Erik, who had moved closer to the door to listen. When she opened her mouth to speak, there was a knock on the front door. Christine stared into Erik's burning eyes with some fear.

"Stay here," she whispered. She literally pushed his chest in her attempt to get him to sit down. He didn't budge, his glowing eyes fixed on the door. "Erik? Are you listening? Stay right here." With a last, desperate glance at him, she went to the front door and opened it.

"Hello," she said, trying to be courteous as she let the boy in.

Christine groaned inwardly. He looked similar to other teenage boys of the time—longer hair, a cocky smirk on his lips, his pants around his knees. Although Mia still went to a private school, it was obvious that the outside world had infected even the brick walls of the best place Erik could find. Christine was only thankful that there were no (visible) tattoos or piercings.

"Hey," he said, stepping inside. "I'm Jason. I'm here for Mia—er, Damiana."

"She'll be down in a minute. I'm Christine, her mother."

He nodded and looked around, his hands shoved deeply in his pockets. "Nice house," he said, apparently impressed.

"Thank you," Christine replied nervously. She wanted the boy to disappear before Erik could see him—and she didn't want Mia going with him. There was a moment of awkward silence. She didn't need to call Mia, though. Her daughter had undoubtedly heard the door.

"So, you know Mia from school?" Christine asked stupidly, trying to stifle the awkward feeling in the air.

"What? Oh, she's in my music class."

"Do you play anything?" Christine said hopefully. If Erik could hear, the boy would undoubtedly win some points.

"Nope. The class is required—some stupid appreciation class or something. Anyway, she's really great and helps me a lot. She pretty much knows more than the teacher. He's even made her give performances and stuff, so yeah."

Christine prayed that Erik had not heard him call the music appreciation class 'stupid.' It was only a matter of time before her masked husband picked up the teenager and literally threw him out of the house. And then Mia would get upset, and the entire night would end in a fiasco.

Mia finally appeared at the stairs, smiling as she skipped down them. She was wearing snug, dark-blue jeans and a green, ruffled blouse that went well with her light complexion. Christine thought she looked beautiful and reminded herself to tell her when she returned.

"Hey!" Mia said, stopping in front of him and offering him a smile.

"Hey, how's it going? Ready to go?"

Christine glanced over and saw with horror that Erik was standing in the doorway, drinking in the appearance of Mia's date with obvious disgust. His hands were clenched at his sides.

"Yeah," said Mia. "Let me grab my—"

"Mia." Erik's voice snapped through the entryway, and Christine watched the teenager's reaction. His eyebrows shot up fast and disappeared into his shaggy hair.

"Come here." Erik beckoned with a long finger. Mia glanced at her date apologetically and then went over to her father obediently.

"Excuse us for a minute," Christine said to the teenager, and she went over to stand by her husband and daughter, who were conversing quickly and quietly.

"I don't want you to go with him," Erik said at once, throwing a glare at the entrance hall.

"Why? He's nice."

"'_Why_?' Look at him! Look at the state of his clothes! What a terrible choice!"

"He always dresses nice at school."

"That's because you are required to wear a uniform," Erik snapped.

"Daddy, please," Mia said, touching his arm gently. Christine couldn't resist smiling just a little. Mia always knew how to calm him down. "It's fine. Look, I'll call you at nine and tell you how things are going, all right? And then we can talk about me coming home or not. Okay?"

Erik hesitated, and his glowing eyes slid over to the front door again. Very, very slowly, he nodded, like it pained him to do so. Mia hugged him tightly and then turned and went back to the front door.

"Everything okay?" the boy asked nervously, obviously trying not to look at Erik again.

"Yeah, it's fine," Mia said. "Let's go." She grabbed her coat from the closet, and then they were gone.

* * *

Christine was back at the desk, and Erik was sitting at the piano, though his hands were in his lap. He was rubbing his thighs nervously, anxiously glancing at the clock. Christine tried to coax conversation out of him.

"Here's an offer from the Dallas Opera," she said, waving the letter at him. "They want me to play Cunegonde." She gave an irritated grunt and put the letter away. "I could do that show backwards with my eyes closed. I wish people would put on different shows once in a while…But what do you think? Erik? …Erik?"

"Hmm?" he said distractedly. "What? What do you want?"

"I want you to talk with me," she said, pulling out another letter. "I need your help with this stuff, you know. You _are_ my agent."

"Of course," he said vaguely. "Whatever you wish."

Christine rolled her eyes and scanned the next letter. Erik always read her mail before she did. He said he wanted to catch the creepy, obsessed stalkers before they frightened her and did serious harm. Christine did not choose to remind him that _he _had been a creepy, obsessed stalker. She merely thanked him and allowed him to do what made him feel a little better.

"Oh, look, Chicago is putting on _Die Walküre__. _I like that one. Should I do it? It would be fun. Mia hasn't been to Chicago yet. It looks like a long run, but they're offering me quite a lot."

Erik merely gazed at the clock, his eyes following the hands. Christine tossed the letter down and stood, giving up on that form of distraction. She tried a different tactic.

He jumped when she put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on," she said, tugging him. He followed her to the couch obediently, and she settled herself in his lap, pulling off his mask.

"What are they doing again?" he asked.

Christine draped her arms around his neck. "She said he was taking her parking."

"WHAT?" He began to squirm, trying to free himself.

Christine laughed. "Relax, Erik, I was only joking."

He glared. "It was not funny."

She smiled and kissed him. "You're too easy." She pressed her lips to his cheek. "It's all right, love. She'll be fine, stop worrying. Besides, we're finally alone in the house…"

He did look momentarily tempted by that, but when he glanced at the clock again, the eagerness vanished. "It's 7:45," he said. "She should call soon."

"Fine, fine." She climbed off his lap. "Maybe I'll go to bed early tonight."

Before she could see his reaction, she felt his hands around her waist, and he dragged her to the floor. She shrieked in delight.

* * *

It was 8:53, and Erik had resumed staring at the clock. Christine was curled at his side, feeling him breathe in and out, listening to his heart pump. It was beautiful music to her ears.

He absentmindedly fingered her hair, and it reminded her of their time before Mia, when it was only the two of them, quietly and happily living in newlywed bliss. Christine didn't regret Mia's birth for one moment, but she realized just how much she missed having Erik to herself. She pressed a kiss to his chest and sighed.

"She said she'd be home by midnight, correct?"

"Yes."

He glared at the clock suspiciously. "What could they be doing for five hours? Nothing lasts five hours—except perhaps an opera. And judging by the state of that boy's clothes, he wouldn't know culture if it hit him around his head. She needs to come home when she calls."

Christine was silent, knowing it was now useless to argue.

"Don't you think so?"

She looked to find that he was peering down at her.

"Whatever you think is best, Erik," she said dutifully.

He sat up, and she slid off him. "What's wrong?" he asked. He took her face in his cold fingertips.

"Nothing," she said.

He looked concerned. "You haven't said that to me since…since…"

He trailed off, but they both knew he was referring to the time when she was terrified of him, when she would do whatever he commanded without question. It was always _Whatever you think is best, Erik_.

"I'm fine," she said, sitting up as well. "Just tired, I think. And your worrying isn't making me feel better."

"I—"

The front door opened. Erik shot up and was instantly at the door. Christine clambered to her feet as well and then went to see Erik besieging Mia with questions.

"No, it's fine, Daddy, really," she was saying, climbing the stairs to her room. "I asked him to take me home early. I don't feel good. I'll tell you about it tomorrow. Night."

And she disappeared into her bedroom. Erik rounded on Christine once again.

"What's wrong with her?" he demanded. "What happened?"

"You are the most difficult man I've met," Christine said, walking past him and climbing the stairs. "I'll talk to her. And don't you dare listen at the door!" she added.

"Mia?" She knocked on her daughter's door. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine!" Her voice was tight and shrill.

It alarmed Christine, who walked in and closed the door behind her. Mia was lying on her huge, beautiful, canopied bed, her bedside lamp on. The music box Erik had given to her when she was four still rested on her nightstand. A Chopin waltz echoed drearily around the room.

Christine sat on the edge of the bed, and Mia obstinately turned her face away. Christine played with her dark, soft hair for a while.

"I've never liked this waltz," Christine commented. "It makes me feel dreadfully sad, no matter what else I'm feeling. Your father loves it, though."

"I know." Her answer was short.

"Do you mind if I turn it off?"

Mia shrugged her thin shoulders, like she didn't care either way, and Christine went and silenced the waltz with the push of a button. She returned to the bed.

"Do you want to tell me what's wrong?" Christine finally asked, her voice so soft.

"No," Mia snipped. There was a moment of silence, and then she burst out savagely, "I hate everyone!"

Christine was momentarily taken aback at how much she sounded like Erik, but she managed to swallow away her surprise. _Gently, Christine. Gently. _

"Why?"

"They're all so stupid," Mia said, her voice muffled by her feather pillow. She pounded a fist into the mattress angrily. "What is everyone's problem? Why can't they leave us alone?"

Christine's throat tightened. "What happened tonight?"

Mia sat up, fresh, angry tears glittering in her dark eyes, and she glared sourly at the wall.

"Oh, nothing interesting, just some jerks who can't mind their own business…" She finally looked glumly at Christine, who attempted to look politely confused, though there was obvious worry that she could not hide.

"I knew it was bound to come up if he saw Daddy," Mia began heavily. "I mean, I'm not stupid. I know that Daddy isn't exactly…an average guy. I thought that he'd have a little bit more class about it, but no! As soon as we were in the car, it was, 'Why does your dad wear that weird mask?'"

"What did you say?"

"I told him it was personal and to mind his own beeswax," Mia said, anger and gloom mixing her voice together. "So, it goes without saying that it didn't start out too well. He was pretty offended, but he tried to pretend he wasn't. So then it was, 'What does your mom do? She's pretty.'"

Christine bit her lip. "Did he really say that?"

Mia's tears returned. "Yeah," she whispered. "I tried to shrug it off. I _know _you're gorgeous, and I'm…"

"Oh, darling, you're beautiful," Christine said, wrapping Mia up in her arms. It seemed as if her daughter was tired of fighting. She leaned against Christine's shoulder wearily, tears steadily dripping out of her dark eyes.

"So I said, 'Oh, she's an opera singer. Haven't you heard of her?' And then it's like, 'No way—I don't listen to opera!' Then he laughed and turned on his radio. He says, 'Here, we can listen to some if you really want to.' He flipped to the opera station—he had XM—and it was that gorgeous song of Mozart's—the one from The Abduction from the Seraglio. What's it called again?"

"_Die Entuhrung_?" Christine offered quietly.

"Yeah," Mia agreed quickly. "That one. Anyway, the recording was beautiful, and I was actually enjoying it, and then he _laughed _and said it sounded _so bad _and flipped it back to his stupid heavy metal. I know that I like a lot of stuff that you and Daddy can't stand, but his stuff was just people screaming. It was giving me a headache. But I pretended I liked it too." She sniffled quietly on Christine's shoulder and then whispered, "You'd better check to see if Daddy's at the door."

Christine pressed a finger to her lips and then crept toward the door. Sure enough, when she opened it, she found Erik retreating down the stairs, pretending like he hadn't been there at all.

"Don't come back up here!" Christine said angrily, and she slammed the door shut again before he could turn around and retort. Christine crawled back into bed with her daughter and gathered her up once again. "Then what happened?"

"Well, he said we were going to meet up with some other people and go out to eat somewhere. It was okay for a while after that. But when dinner was almost over, we all started talking about what our parents do, and I was nervous. I told them that you were an opera singer (and I ignored their fake enthusiasm, but seriously, it was sad, because none of them had ever heard of you), and then I said that Daddy had done a whole bunch of different things. 'Oh, what things?' they asked. 'Mostly architecture,' I said. 'He did some amazing buildings in the Middle East.' And I was about to tell them some of the buildings he designed, but then stupid Jason cut in and was like, 'The Middle East? Is that why he wears a mask? Is it their custom or something?' And then it was, 'Your dad wears a mask? Why? Blah blah blah.' And they wouldn't listen when I tried to talk to them about his music. It was just the mask—why, why, why. Then I went and forced myself to throw up in the bathroom so Jason would take me home."

"What?" Christine said angrily. "You were sick on purpose? Don't do that, Mia! The—"

"I know, I _know_, the acid will ruin my vocal chords," Mia muttered. "Daddy told me all about it when I was thirteen. He gave me a big long speech about the dangers of bulimia and other dumb teenage stuff. But I was desperate. I didn't know what else to do."

They were silent for a moment, Christine stroking her hair again.

"It's not fair," Mia said grouchily. "Why does anybody even care about his mask? They should be more interested in _him_. I mean, he's pretty much a genius. But no—it's always mask, mask, mask. That's why he won't publish his music, that's why he won't perform with you. I hate that mask," she went on, the bitterness more and more pronounced in her voice. "I hate it. I hate when he puts it on, and I hate that tonight he had to wear it in his own home. I hate how he can't come to my piano stuff, and I hate that he can't even do anything about it. It's not fair!"

She began crying again. Christine knew how it felt—she knew the disappointment that came with realizing that only the bare minimum of Erik's genius had been displayed to the world. She knew how it angered her to know that he kept all of his music in his own study, when if even a single sheet were to be permitted outside, it would become an instant sensation. Erik's genius was confined, and both wife and daughter knew.

"Are you embarrassed?" Christine finally ventured gently.

Mia sat up quickly, a flash of fury in her eyes. "Of course I'm not!" she said hotly. "How could you even ask that? I'm so proud of him, and it makes me so mad to realize that I can't even introduce him to my best friends. I want to tell everyone how amazing he is, but when I do, it's always, 'Well, what does he do?' And I say he composes the most beautiful music, and they say, 'Have I heard any of it?' And then I say no, it's not anything on the radio—he hasn't published any music at all. And then it's skepticism and raised eyebrows, because if he's so good, why hasn't anything of his been published? And it's because of his STUPID. MASK." She sat in angry silence for a minute before saying, "How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Christine asked.

Mia frowned. "How do you do so much and get through all the awkward questions? How do you respond when people ask?"

Christine thought and then said sadly, "It's just taking each one as they come and knowing that there will be more."

They were silent, and the house was suddenly ringing with beautiful piano music from downstairs. It was Erik's call to them. And they were unable to resist.

"Come on," Christine said. "Let's go downstairs, and we can eat some of that peach pie I made."

Mia grumbled a little. "He's going to make me tell him what happened tonight."

Christine winked. "I think you know how to play your cards, dear. You've had sixteen years to learn his strategies. I would be very disappointed if you lost."

Giving her mother a little smile in return, Mia looped her arm through hers and followed her downstairs, down to the man they both adored with all their hearts.


	7. Chapter 7

Erik's study was a fascinating place. Every time Christine looked inside, it appeared completely different. She was never exactly sure what Erik did in there, but it had never caused any sort of real trouble and it kept Erik busy and interested, so Christine had never had a problem with it. She knew that it was somewhat dangerous as well, and when Mia had been born, Christine had asked Erik what he intended to do about what was in his room. He said the answer was simple: a lock on the door.

Neither of them had to worry about Christine going into his study and harming herself. She usually avoided it as a result of the damage she had caused early on.

They had been married for a little over a week, and he had disappeared for a few hours, leaving Christine to wander the house alone, missing him fiercely. She entertained herself for a while by plunking out some melodies on the piano and was a little glad Erik wasn't there to listen. He had always said she should practice the piano more to fully develop technicalities and such that she hadn't learned as a singer. Somehow, she had always managed to distract him when he spoke of her lack of piano abilities. She flipped through some of the music that rested on the stand. Her eyebrows shot up as she looked at the seemingly-impossible music that was on the paper. It was crammed full of fast thirty-second phrases, chords with five notes, sweeping runs up and down the staff that she was sure took at least four hands to do in time, and all of it accented and highlighted by phrasing and different makings such as fermatas, staccatos, and caret accents that made her fingers ache by merely looking. Surely a piece like that was impossible to play—impossible for anyone except Erik. She shut the music, resiliently beat out a tune with her right index finger, and then left the piano, looking for something else to distract her while she waited for him to return.

She walked down the hall, a little absentmindedly, until a loud, infuriated yowl came from her feet, followed by a sharp pain at her ankle.

"Ouch!" she shouted, spotting a blur of cream and brown as Ayesha sped out of the hall and into Erik's study, the door of which was ajar. "Ayesha!" she said angrily, bending down to look at her ankle. Two red lines had appeared there and although there was no blood, they throbbed a little. "Stupid cat," she muttered darkly. She went to his study and pushed the door open.

"Ayesha?" she called. "Come on, come out. You shouldn't be in here. You might break something."

She looked around and then walked inside, flipping on the light. It illuminated a veritable wonderland of science, art, and literature. Christine was sure she could spend hours simply looking.

"Here, kitty kitty," she said half-heartedly, stopping in front of the desk and looking at the pile of papers. She rifled through them, looking interestedly at the sketches and notes there. There was a bottle of strange-looking light blue liquid, and she tapped the side of the glass, bending to look. When there was a meow behind her, she looked to see Ayesha leaving the study.

There was no desire to leave anymore. She picked up books on his desk and flipped through them. When it was clear that most of them were in foreign languages (and the ones she could read she didn't understand), she put them down and then looked at the other things that littered his desk.

Several silent minutes later, the door shut downstairs, and it startled her. She jumped and accidentally knocked over the clear bottle of blue liquid. It swept over his desk, emitting a hissing sound and an extremely foul smell. Squeaking in fright, she quickly pulled away the books and papers that had not been touched by Erik's strange potion. She knew better, however, than to touch the blue fluid, and so she simply backed out of his study, flipped off the light, and shut the door.

When she told him, she bowed her head in shame, feeling childish and silly. He was the epitome of calm and gentleness, for which she was extremely grateful (she also suspected that he was reluctant to be cross with her because of their extremely recent nuptials). He simply picked up her chin with his long fingers and quietly asked what it was she had spilled.

"The—the blue stuff on your desk," she sniffled. "I'm sorry, Erik! I didn't mean to go in there. Ayesha was there, and I followed her in to get her out. But all of your things were so interesting that I couldn't help it. I'm sorry, I—"

He silenced her with a bony finger on her lips. "You didn't touch any of it, did you?"

She shook her head no.

"Good girl," he approved quietly. He then announced that he was going to go clean it up, and she waited for him for another few hours, feeling terrible. She hoped she had not damaged too much. Several of his books had been wetted, and she had simply allowed the liquid to spread. It had probably dripped onto the floor and all over the rest of his things.

She did not see him until very, very late that night, when he walked into the bedroom.

"Was it bad?" she whispered.

He made a noncommittal noise in his throat and took off his shoes.

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to, I promise. Is there anything I can do to fix it?"

"No," he said. "Not unless you happen to know somewhere that sells first-edition architectural journals in their original language and format." He crawled into the bed beside her.

She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh, Erik," she said tearfully, lowering her hand. "I'm so sorry. I'll look everywhere, I promise. Just give me the titles, and I'll go to every bookstore I can find. I'll—"

"Darling." He interrupted her with a word and a kiss. "Please don't trouble yourself."

"But I feel so bad!" she protested.

"Yes, I know," he said. "Don't worry about finding me new books."

"But I'm sure I could," she said.

"You won't," he said calmly. "There are no others in existence."

If there was something he could have said to make her feel worse, Christine couldn't imagine what it was. Embarrassed beyond belief, she pulled the bed coverings up to her chin and lowered her eyes.

Gently, he brushed his fingers over her cheek. "Please don't fret, love," he said kindly. "You mean much more to me than a few old books. Personally, I'm still quite baffled that you're here to destroy my things at all." He chuckled softly to himself.

"It won't happen again," she promised.

"I'm sure," he said. "But perhaps it would be best if you did not enter my study without me." He smiled. "I do not want you to get hurt."

She managed to laugh a little, knowing he was also concerned about his things 'getting hurt.'

And even years later, Christine did not regularly visit his study. So it came as a surprise when he came to her with a serious inquiry.

She was busy with laundry, wanting to get as much done before she left for the Toronto Opera House next week. Erik found her downstairs, a basket of clothes balanced on her hip.

"Where is it?" he demanded instantly.

"Where is what?" she said.

"Stop feigning innocence," he said snappishly. "It's already wearing on my nerves."

Sighing a little, she set the laundry down on the floor and patiently looked back up at her husband of nearly nineteen years. "Erik, I don't know what you're talking about. I promise."

"My mask!" he burst angrily. "I want to know where it is!"

"Which one?"

"The black one," he said, glaring sourly. "It's gone."

"Well," she said, trying to stay calm for both of their sakes. "Where was the last place you saw it?"

"I didn't lose it, foolish woman," he said. "I don't lose my masks. It was taken."

"Your masks are kept in your study," Christine said, frowning a little. "I don't go in there. I haven't been in there in…years. You know that." She chewed on her inner cheek nervously for a moment. "Maybe Mia took it."

"Why would she take my mask?" he asked furiously.

"Fine," she said, her nerves shot as well. She picked up her laundry and marched past him. "Do what you always do. Blame me, but don't blame her! No, _never _blame her! It's always my fault, isn't it?"

There was silence, and he let her climb the stairs to finish her laundry in peace. An hour or so later, however, he entered the room and knelt at her feet, pressing his face into the palms of her hands. Instantly, he was forgiven, though Christine was silent, waiting for his explanation.

"I didn't know you feel that way," he said softly. "It was never intentional, I promise."

She sighed and then felt bad for snapping at him when he was obviously distressed over his mask. "I know, Erik. I'm sorry. Let's forget this and go look for your mask."

He looked up at her. "No, I've looked already," he said, his voice tight. "I turned my study upside down. I've searched the entire house. It's gone."

"Okay…" She tugged on his arm lightly, gesturing him to get up from the floor, and he did so, sitting beside her. "Are you sure it was in your study? Did you wear it somewhere and forget?"

He looked at her pointedly. "My love," he said, "I've been clinging to my masks for half a century. I don't forget where I put them. I don't wear them somewhere and accidentally leave them. I know where they are all the time. One of them was taken from my study."

"I promise it wasn't me," she said.

After sighing a little, he took her left hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. "I believe you," he said. Then he looked at the door. "Where is Mia?"

"Out with friends," she said. She stood and began to put away some of the freshly laundered clothes.

"How long has she been gone? When will she be back?"

"She didn't say when she'd be back." Christine frowned as she realized. "She's been gone all day, though." She shrugged a little and went back to putting the clothes away. "But I guess it's only natural. She wants to spend a lot of time with them."

As Mia was heading off to college in the coming fall, most of her days were spent out with friends, who would all be attending different universities. Of course Erik was reluctant about it, but he had been slightly mollified when she announced she would be auditioning for the piano program at a university that was a few hours north of their home; its music program was among the best, but it was also extremely selective. It was rare—almost unheard of—for an incoming freshman to be accepted. Most in the program already had a bachelor's in a music degree before thinking of auditioning. Christine warned Mia of it all, saying she would have to work and practice long hours during the summer for auditions in the fall.

"I already practice more than anything else," Mia said, shrugging. "I'll just work hard. And Daddy can help me. I'll be fine."

Erik had the same attitude as Mia about the auditions.

"She'll be fine," he said to Christine when she told him of her chances of being accepted. "In fact, I would be highly disappointed if they did not offer her a scholarship—and a big one at that."

There was the constant ringing of the piano the summer before Mia's senior year of high school. So many applied for the music program that auditions were held the year before expected entrance, to give a long time for good decision-making and, if necessary, callbacks.

The piano audition date was finalized; it was the second week of October, and Christine's face fell when she heard the news.

"I'll be in Los Angeles performing," she said. "Darling, I'm so sorry."

"Mom, it's totally fine," Mia said.

"But will you be all right?" Christine pressed. "Your father will stay with you, but perhaps you might need me for something. I should cancel my performance—I'll call and cancel it right now."

She was actually dialing on the phone when Mia grabbed it and stuck it in her pocket. "Mom, did you even listen to me?" she said, smiling a little. "I said I'll be fine. It's okay. Daddy will be here to take me, and I'll call you before and after. Okay? Everything's okay. So don't worry."

Christine flew to Los Angeles a week before Mia's audition, still worried. She told herself that she had no need to be. Erik was more than capable of handling his daughter for three weeks, but Christine still wished she could be there. She remembered auditions well; every single one terrified her, even as she became more and more experienced. There were no auditions for her now, but she still did not like them.

The date of Mia's audition came, and Christine was at the Los Angeles Opera House, forced to sit and allow the hair and makeup ladies attack her. She tapped her fingers nervously on the armrest.

"Are you all right, Madame?" a woman asked kindly.

"What?—I'm fine. Fine."

There was a rap on the door, and a man with thick-rimmed glasses stuck his head in the door. "Ten minutes, Mrs. Vautour," he said.

"Thank you," she said. Her cell phone then buzzed excitedly on the table, and Christine answered it quickly.

"Hello? Mia?"

"_Hey Mom! How's LA?"_

"It's fine," Christine said quickly. "When's your time?"

"_I'm on in ten minutes," _Mia replied cheerfully. "_Just calling to let you know everything is fine. I feel great. Daddy gave me a great lesson yesterday. I know I'm as prepared as I'm going to be."_

"Good," Christine said, managing to smile a little. "Just remember to smile a lot and look at the judges. Make eye contact, but don't stare. And make your voice sound confident when you announce yourself. Oh, and remember to reflect what you're playing on your face. And when you're finished—"

"_Mom," _Mia interrupted, obviously fighting a laugh. "_I know. You told me this before you left. I remember. I have to thank the judges for their time and stuff. Seriously, you're more nervous than I am. Oh! They just called me into the room. Gotta go. Break a leg when you perform, though!"_

"You do the same," Christine said quickly. "Call me later and tell me how your father's doing, won't you?"

"_Of course I will. But I have to go now. Bye."_

There was an abrupt _click, _and Christine stared at the phone sadly. There was nothing to do but perform and then wait.

Later, while at dinner in a pricey restaurant with some other performers from the opera, she felt her phone buzz.

"Excuse me," she said, answering the call quickly. "Hello?"

"_Hi Mom! It's me."_

"Of course it is," Christine laughed. "So, how did it go?"

"_It was great, actually. I feel really good. Daddy said I played good." _Christine heard Erik's voice come from somewhere nearby, and her very being ached to be with them. "_Oh, _sorry. _I played _well."

"I'm glad to hear it," Christine said. "Did they say anything at all?"

"_Nope—they just sat there, said thank you, and called for the next person. But Daddy said that they usually give some kind of polite applause after every audition, and the fact that they didn't clap was a good thing. So hopefully they liked it."_

"I'm sure they did," Christine reassured her. "How's your father? What's he doing?"

"_He's fine, he's making me dinner," _Mia said. "_It smells good." _

"You need to start cooking, darling," Christine said, trying not to feel bad that the others at the table were forced to be quiet because of her personal conversation. "You're leaving soon, and you won't have us to cook for you."

"_I know, Daddy keeps telling me that_," Mia said. Christine could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "_But I have another, what, nine months? Yeah, I'll be fine."_

"You'll regret this when you move and you'll be fending for yourself," Christine warned.

"_Yeah, I know,_" Mia agreed readily. "_Oh, but it's ready now. I should go. I'll call you in a few days, all right? When are you coming home again?"_

"Not for another week," Christine said sadly.

"_Well, see you then, Mom_," Mia said.

"Goodbye, darling." She pushed her phone back into her purse. "Sorry," she said simply, returning to stare at the contents of her plate, which she did not want anymore.

"Was that your daughter, Christine?" asked a heavyset woman with a tweedy voice.

"Yes," Christine said cautiously. Questions about her family were always regarded warily. And those sitting at the table knew something about it—meaning they would want to know more.

"Oh, how is she?" the woman asked. "I met her once, I remember, last summer when we were doing _Tosca. _She was such a charming young lady, and a skinny thing at that!" The woman laughed.

"She's fine," Christine answered shortly, trying to pretend her short answers were caused by her desire to eat the food on her plate. She took a few bites.

"She's how old now?" the woman continued. "Sixteen?"

"Seventeen," Christine said.

"And your—husband? How is he?" asked a bald man with a thick Italian accent. Everyone at the table made subtle signs that they were listening carefully. It was well-known that the famous Christine Vautour was highly, _highly _private, and her husband even more so. During her years of performing, no one had caught so much as a glimpse of him. He did not attend opening nights, closing nights, parties, galas, fundraisers—he was never seen with the famous soprano. She said nothing definite about him, either. And all the mystery had only engendered awkward and irritating questions.

"He's well," Christine said, stabbing her food. "Like always."

There was a silence following her curt response. Christine could tell they were itching to ask more questions, but she was not going to give them the chance.

"I need to go," she said, standing. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. I had a lovely time." Someone came over bearing her coat and purse, and she gave a brief smile to those sitting before turning and walking toward the exit. When she glanced back, she saw them all muttering together, and she knew what they were talking about. She was tempted to end early and return home, but Erik would have never allowed it, and she still had a contract to fulfill. And so she ploughed through the next week, each day bringing her closer to her family. She finished her run and took the earliest flight back home, eager to be with her family again.

During the previous December, news was brought. Mia received her e-mail from the university—months earlier than was predicted. Not only had she been accepted, but she had been offered a generous scholarship. Erik said that if she continued to excel, in a few years it would undoubtedly be a full ride.

The initial excitement of acceptance had worn off, and it was clear that Mia was nervous. She had never moved before, and Christine knew she was anxious about living so far away from her friends and family—the latter a bit more so than the former. Christine didn't know why Mia had been spending nearly every day of her break out of the house, but it seemed to calm Mia down a little, and so it had been allowed.

But during that day—the day his black mask was gone—Christine wished she had paid a little more attention when she asked Mia where she was going.

"I want her back," Erik said, standing and stalking to the door.

Christine spent the rest of the afternoon looking for Erik's mask, though he insisted that he had checked everywhere. She needed something to do to ensure that she wasn't riding on Erik's nerves.

Mia came in later that evening, and Christine asked her if she had taken the mask.

"No," Mia said, raising an eyebrow. "What would I want with his creepy mask? I hate those things."

"Well, help me look, anyway," Christine said, kneeling down to peer under the couch for the hundredth time. "He's very upset."

"You don't have to tell me," Mia muttered.

"Did you have fun today?" Christine asked, opening some drawers to the downstairs desk and rifling through the contents.

"Yeah," Mia said. She randomly pushed books aside on the shelf, peering behind odd objects that were tastefully arranged on them.

"What did you do? Who were you with?"

"Um…We went downtown and looked at some cars. Kevin's parents said they'd buy him one under a certain price range, so we just went and looked for a while."

"Who went with you?" Christine never asked Mia questions to be suspicious or prying—that was Erik's job. Christine asked them because she was simply interested in her daughter's life.

"Kevin, Sam, Jessie, and Anne."

"You didn't invite Josie?" Christine knew Mia's friends well. She felt it her motherly duty to do so.

"Mom, Josie and I aren't friends anymore."

Christine straightened and looked at her daughter, a concerned frown on her lips. "What? Since when?"

"Since I told her to shut her fat, ugly mouth," Mia said, still looking through the books.

"What?" Christine gasped. "Why would you ever say anything like that?"

Mia looked at her mother glumly. "Just guess."

Christine then remembered what they were looking for. "Oh." She thought for a moment and said gently, "Perhaps, darling, that isn't the best way to address a topic like—"

"I know, Mom. Please don't start. Let's just look for it, okay?"

Another hour of searching brought up nothing, and Christine was forced to admit defeat for the evening. While curled up beside him, she kissed his lips soothingly and said, "I'm sure it will turn up, Erik. Don't worry."

He rolled over and was silent for the rest of the night. When she woke early the next morning, there was the unmistakable feeling that he had left the bed several hours ago.

Two more tense days passed without any sign of Erik's black mask. Mia was gone from the house more and more, and she excused herself from meals early, wanting to get away from his suspicious glower. Christine was feeling uneasy as well. She continually wanted to ask him if he was sure he hadn't simply lost it, but whenever she looked at him and saw his barely-contained anger, she thought better of it.

The explosion finally came on a rainy, dark afternoon. The wind screamed against the windows, and Christine was glad that Mia had arrived home before the storm. The inhabitants of the house were quiet, but the weather outside beat its way in, and the silence was disturbed by the shrieking storm.

In the kitchen downstairs, Christine was making a list of groceries she needed to buy before she left for Toronto. For the first time, Mia was going to be left in the house alone while Erik went with his wife. To say that both Christine and Erik were worried was a severe understatement. Erik had drilled his daughter hundreds of times over the last two weeks, restating the rules, what time she needed to wake, what time she needed to be in bed, what time she needed to call them, who she could invite over, who she couldn't invite over, where she could go, where she couldn't go—and all other things he could think of that would keep his precious daughter safe. When Christine originally suggested it, he had refused outright. It had taken a few nights of gentle persuasion on Christine's part to get him to agree. She had said that Mia was going to be living on her own soon enough anyway, and that she had proven herself more than trustworthy over the years, and that it would be good to see how she handled two weeks of being by herself—a good preparation for the upcoming university life.

Christine had called upon their closest neighbors (who weren't very close) and had requested that they look at the house every few hours to make sure that everything was going all right. Somewhat surprisingly, Erik had suggested that they call Nadir Khan to come over and stay while they were away, but Mia had had something to say about the idea.

"I'm eighteen years old," Mia said, folding her arms. "I seriously do not need a babysitter. I'll follow all your rules and I'll be careful. I promise."

Even with all her own reassurances and Mia's promises, Christine worried. She rubbed her forehead and jotted down a few more items, thinking of things that would be easiest for Mia to prepare for herself—and things that wouldn't burn the house down.

She had just risen to get herself a glass of water when a thundering shout rang through the house.

"_CHRISTINE!"_

_What now? _her mind whispered frantically, and she ran from the kitchen and hurried up the stairs. Another bellow came.

"_CHRISTINE!"_

"I'm coming!" she yelled. The bedroom door was open and the study door was shut, and so she went to the study, opening it and finding it a terrific mess. Papers were scattered, chairs overturned, books torn from their shelves, various mechanical and electronic devices littered the floor—and Christine picked her way through to her husband, who was clutching his left upper arm with his right hand and staring down in absolute and shocked horror.

"What is it?" she said, coming up beside him. She gently touched his hand, and he flinched. "Erik?"

"They're—they are gone," he whispered hollowly.

"What?"

"The masks," he said, still staring. "All of them."

Christine's stomach flipped and she looked at the box Erik kept them in. It was completely empty.

"Okay," she said, forcing calmness into her voice. "Okay, let's just think. Erik, are you thinking? Where could they be?"

He gave a strangled groan and fell to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her legs and burying his face in them. Christine almost fell over and grabbed his bony shoulders to steady herself.

"Please," he whispered, his voice slightly muffled by her legs. "_Please_, my love, my life, give them back to me. I know you cannot understand them, but I need them! You might not agree, but you must—"

"Erik!" she interrupted loudly. "Listen to me. _I didn't take them_. All right? I didn't. I swear. I would never take them from you."

He looked up at her and then looked at the box. "You…" he said. He then got to his feet and stared at the box for another minute, his face expressionless.

"If she dared…" he then said, his voice low. He then turned and left his study. Christine followed, feeling dread build up in her stomach. Mia's door was closed.

"Erik, you don't know if she did it," Christine hissed behind him.

"If you didn't do it, then she is the only other explanation," he said shortly. He pushed the door open and strode in. Mia was reading a magazine on her bed, propped up by her pillows, a crooning singer filling up the room. Erik turned it off with an impatient push of a button. Mia looked up at both of them, raising a pitch-black eyebrow.

"Hi," she said, making it perfectly clear that they were not welcome to simply barge into her room.

"Where are they?" Erik asked without any further conversation. His tone was impatient and angry.

Mia watched him for a second before going back to her magazine. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said.

"You do," he said. Christine stepped into the room a little farther and watched the exchange somewhat fearfully. Both of them possessed short tempers. Although Mia controlled hers better, it was set off a little easier than most people's.

"Sorry, Dad," she said, not even looking up. "You're going to have to tell me what I have."

Erik bared his teeth. When Christine reached for him, he merely pulled away.

"Mia," Christine said quietly. "Please. Just tell him where they are."

"Look, if I knew what you guys were talking about, maybe I could tell him," Mia said. She gave them an annoyed glance and turned a page.

With an infuriated gleam in his eyes, Erik strode over to a corner of Mia's room that was entirely devoted to music. When he picked up one of her undoubtedly hundreds of CD's, Mia looked up. Without further ado, he snapped it in half.

"Hey!" Mia cried furiously, tossing her magazine aside and scrambling off the bed. Erik picked up another one and broke it.

"Stop!" Mia said. "Stop that!"

"Tell me where you put them," Erik said.

"I don't know where your masks are!" Mia shouted, her cheeks becoming very pink.

Christine winced as another CD snapped in half and tumbled to the ground. Christine noticed that Erik was not breaking popular CD's. He was selecting the rare ones, ones that Mia had tracked down, ones full of beautiful music. And as Mia did not yet have any laptop of her own, she had no way to store the files. The CD's were the only things she had.

Mia turned to her mother. "Mom, please," she said beseechingly. Christine looked between them and bit her lower lip.

"Mia, just tell us where they are," Christine said, a note of pleading in her own voice. "Please."

Turning back to her father, Mia watched as he picked up a CD with a yellow case. Mia squeaked.

"No!" she yelped. "Don't break that one. Please."

He took it between his fingers. It bent easily.

With a small, shuddering breath, Mia rushed, "Okay, I took them."

Erik tossed it to the ground, unbroken, though his gaze remained on Mia, who looked small and pale. Christine felt a sudden desire to go over and embrace her daughter.

"They just…I hate them so much," she whispered. "They're the reason for everything. If you sent five seconds of your music to anyone, they'd be begging at your feet to get you to sign a contract. It's not fair that you have to hide all of your work here." Mia looked at her mother. "You said so, too, Mom. You said it wasn't fair that he couldn't publish any of his stuff."

"I know," Christine said. "However, I would never force him to do anything he didn't wish to."

"Well, I think _someone _should!" Mia said passionately, the color back in her cheeks. Her voice was even louder because she had to compete with the wind outside the window. "Someone needs to make him see that it's stupid for him to hole up all his work! It's selfish!" She looked back at Erik. "No one cares about your face. Come _on. _This is the twenty-first century, Daddy!"

Recognizing danger immediately, Christine went over and looked up at him. He was tall, and he towered over her (Mia was just a little taller than Christine as well). Christine slid an arm around his waist.

"Erik?" she whispered. She felt his chest move harshly, raggedly. He took her arm, a little harder than he intended, she was sure, and she hid a wince.

"Get them back," he said. Then he left the room.

Christine turned to her daughter and held out her hand. "Just give them to me," Christine said.

Mia bit her thin lip and knelt before reaching under her bed. A minute later, she straightened with his white mask and handed it to Christine.

"And the others as well," Christine said.

"Um…" Mia shifted on her feet. "I sort of burned them."

"You 'sort of burned them?'" Christine repeated, horror creeping in.

Mia nodded and stared at the ground. "I was going to burn that one tonight. I did it when I was headed to hang out with my friends. I just stopped by the coffee shop downtown—the one with the giant fireplace in the back—ordered something, and then tossed them in while I was waiting. Then I left."

Christine looked at the single mask in her hand. "Did you think that he wouldn't find out?"

Mia shrugged. "Kind of. He didn't know I could pick the lock to his study."

With a heavy sigh, Christine clutched the object in her hand. "This isn't over, you know. He's still furious with you. He's been mad at me for days." Christine felt a flare of anger leap up. "You were really immature, did you know that? And I'm not going to say sorry. I thought you knew better than this."

Quietly, Mia began to cry. "I know, Mom," she whispered. "I'm sorry."

As always, the sight of her daughter crying broke her heart, and she softened a little.

"I'll talk to him," Christine said. "He'll be all right by tomorrow morning."

Mia rushed over and hugged her tightly. "Thanks," she said. "And I'm really sorry."

"I know," Christine said. She left and went to the bedroom, feeling her mouth dry just a little as she walked in. She shut the door behind her quietly. Rain was still dripping down the window panes.

He was sitting in the armchair, stiff and silent, staring at the wall. His fists were clenched on the armrests, and his jaw was tight. Christine walked over and touched his shoulder.

"Erik," she said softly. She held out the white mask. "Here."

"Where are the others?" he asked, his voice quiet and rigid.

"She—I'm sorry, Erik. She got rid of them."

"She _got rid_ of them…"

"Yes. She's so sorry."

"Don't apologize for her," he said shortly. "They're gone. Gone." He suddenly tore the white mask out of her hand and slipped it on, tying it feverishly.

"Erik, please, you don't have to wear—"

"No, I _must_," he gasped, straightening it on his face and feeling it frantically, making sure it was secure. "I need to. It's on, yes? Yes, I feel it. It's on my face…my disgusting face…" He panted a little and then leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes.

Christine went in front of him and sat at his feet, resting her chin on his knees. He cracked open his eyes and looked at her tiredly.

"You aren't a little girl anymore. You're my wife." He beckoned to her with a long finger. "You needn't be on the floor any longer. Come here."

She climbed into his lap, and he held her, breathing into her softly. The pressure of the mask on her shoulder was unfamiliar and unwelcome, but she was silent.

"You realize," he said quietly, "that I will not be able to accompany you next week. I do not have my rubber mask any longer."

Christine nodded, resisting the urge to shudder as she thought of that particular mask. He had fashioned it several years ago, using rubber and latex and all sorts of materials. It was a complete secret, and one night he walked into the bedroom with it on. When she had seen him, Christine had screamed like a banshee and had barricaded herself in the bathroom, thinking it was some strange man in the house. The memory of it still brought tears of laughter to Erik's eyes.

"How long did it take you to make that mask?" Christine asked hopefully.

"Several months," he said. "It takes a few months to make a mask like this as well." He touched his white one. "It must be shaped specifically to my face. Special material must be shipped in as well. It's a very expensive and time-consuming process. However, I've had too many years of masks chafing my face raw and uncouth material eating it away. I cannot have that anymore." He sighed heavily.

"I know," she murmured. Disappointment coursed through her, but she said nothing of it. She would not pressure him to do anything he didn't want to. She knew that he had earned the right to decide things for himself, and she wanted him to do what would make him happy. He had been through too much to force that specific, raw kind of pain back onto him.

Gently, she ran her fingers through his thin, dark hair, and she stopped at the ties of his mask.

"Can I take this off?" she asked quietly.

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes unfathomable, and nodded slowly.

"Are you sure?"

Again, he nodded.

She untied it quickly and slipped it off, tossing it onto the nearby bed.

"I really love you a lot," she said.

He exhaled slowly. "I know."

"Mia loves you too. She still doesn't understand, Erik. I don't think she ever will. She did it because she thought it would be good for you. Do you realize that? She didn't do it to be mean or cruel."

"Of course not." His voice was quiet and sounded extremely tired. "That poor girl still cannot realize what a monster I am."

"Stop it," Christine said instantly. "Stop it right now."

"Stop _what_?" he snarled instantly. "Stop being truthful to myself? Do you want me to lie to myself, make myself up to be some sort of heavenly saint?"

"I want you to be honest with yourself!" she said. "But I want you to tell yourself that you are a wonderful husband and father. Because you are, Erik. Do you even _realize _that? You are."

"Oh yes," he agreed sarcastically. "Yes, a wonderful husband who screams at his wife. A wonderful father who isn't brave enough to fulfill a wish of his only child. Wonderful—so _wonderful_."

"Yes, Erik." She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. "Wonderful."

There was a soft, hesitant knock on their door, and Christine glanced at it before looking back to her husband.

"Can I open it?" she said.

He stared at the door for a moment before nodding. Carefully, she climbed off of his lap and then went to open the door. It revealed Mia, dressed in her pajamas and still looking extremely tearful. She glanced over Christine's shoulder to her father. Erik was standing, facing the doorway.

"Hi," she whispered, her voice thick with suppressed tears. "I know I probably shouldn't have come until tomorrow, but…I just…"

Christine took a step back, and it was all Mia needed. She ran in and threw herself on her father. Erik let out a short shout of surprise as Mia's head collided with his chest. He actually took a few steps back to steady himself from the charge. Christine winced in sympathy.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy," Mia sobbed. "I know you're really mad at me, but I'm so sorry. I just thought that if you didn't have them for a while, you'd see that nobody cares and you'd send some of your music in. You'd come to my recitals and meet my friends." She looked up at him. "Please say you forgive me."

"Precious, there's never a moment that I'm angry enough at you to constitute forgiveness," Erik said. "And…I suppose I'll have you know that I attend your recitals."

"You do?" She sniffled.

"Of course," he replied. "I've never missed one."

"What?" Mia frowned a little. "What? Why didn't you ever tell me?"

"Because I knew you would insist that I meet all of your terrible little friends."

She raised an eyebrow in thought. "Okay, fair enough. But still…I would have liked to know."

"I'm sure," he said shortly. "And I know your friends very well, as a matter of fact."

"Really?"

"Certainly. I wasn't about to let my daughter run off with complete strangers."

Mia grinned a little despite the tears. "How well do you know them?"

His lip twitched. "Well enough."

"Come on," she jibed. "I'm sure they've done plenty of bad things you don't know about."

He sighed a little. "Your friend Anne Davis is the third child of Hank and Millie Davis. She was born September 16. She broke her right arm when she was 8, and it left a scar just above her elbow. She then proceeded to break her wrist four years later. She did well enough at school, though she did not graduate with honors like you. She's had two speeding tickets. She received several detentions throughout school for sluffing and truancy. The only good thing about her is that she will not be attending the same university as you."

Mia's mouth was wide open. "Okay," she said slowly. "That's…a little creepy, but whatever." She put her head back on his chest. "I really am sorry. I've been acting so stupid and childish and selfish."

"I cannot ask you to understand," he said. Christine swallowed. Erik had said the same thing to her when they had first become engaged. He continued, "I know it isn't possible. But you must know that my…problem simply can't be fixed, no matter how many tantrums you throw or masks you burn. You must accept it."

Mia sniffed and nodded, though Christine wasn't sure Mia understood exactly what it was Erik was telling her. Christine later realized that she didn't fully understand when she heard, either. It had taken years and years to somewhat appreciate and understand the kind of pain Erik went through, and she knew that she had barely touched the surface of what was a fathomless well of hurt and memories that he worked hard to suppress. And Christine did not want to pull them up. If Erik was content, she was. If he wished to leave his past alone, she agreed. She wanted what he wanted. Wrapped up in their own world, they were happy. Safe and secure, locked away from the rest of the world, they soared. And if Erik did not want to revisit that other world—the world that had been inhuman and cruel—then Christine would not be the one pushing him out the door.

Sometime later, after Mia had been sent to bed, Christine emerged from the bathroom after readying herself for bed. To her slight surprise, she found Erik already in it, staring at the ceiling. He usually came in when she was already asleep, being the epitome of a 'night owl.'

"Are you upset?" she asked, crawling in beside him.

"No."

"Are you sure? You can tell me, you know. You can tell me anything."

"Yes, I know."

They were both silent for a while. Christine put a hand on his chest, which moved slowly. His heart beat under her palm.

"She will never understand."

She looked up at him, and his gaze was still focused on the ceiling. The storm had died slightly. It was a drizzle against the window.

"No, she probably won't," Christine said gently.

Another minute of silence followed. She traced a pattern on his shirt, watching him stare.

"Do you understand?" he asked.

After some consideration, she said, "I try to understand enough to make you happy. I'm not going to lie and say that I understand everything you do, because I don't. I understand a lot more than I did when we were first married, but…No. I don't understand completely. And Mia will never understand. You're all she's known. You're her father, and that's all that matters to her. She doesn't care about anything else."

"Do you care?"

"About this?" She touched his cheek. "No…Not really. I wouldn't care if you walked around with me unmasked. I'd like it. But I want you to do what makes you happy, Erik. I'm trying to follow your lead." Her hand went back to his chest. "What do you want to do?"

"What I have been doing. I'm very satisfied with it."

"But are you happy?"

For the first time in the conversation, he looked at her.

"Yes," he said slowly. "Sometimes it's maddening, knowing I will never be able to accompany you to your shows or watch Mia from a normal seat. But…through it all, I come to a home above ground and am treated like a normal man by my extraordinarily beautiful wife and incredibly talented daughter. Simply being here, lying in this bed, wondering if all the windows downstairs are shut, proves to me that I have what I have always wanted: normalcy. And you two are all I care about. As long as you are with me, I will be quite happy."

"Well, don't worry, because you're going to be happy for a long time. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm glad you've come to that conclusion, because I must admit that I will never let you go."

"Good," she said. "I don't want you to."

He put his large hand over hers. "I love you," he said quietly. "So much."

She smiled and put her head on his shoulder. "I know."


	8. Chapter 8

On a warm fall day, Christine was picking through a new piece of music. Erik was upstairs working on something, and the house was relatively quiet until frantic knocking at the locked front door startled her.

With some bewilderment, Christine opened the door to her bawling daughter.

"Mia!" she said instantly. "What's wrong? Is everything all right? What are you doing home?"

Mia shook her head and stepped inside, sniffling.

Erik had heard, and he was there in the blink of an eye.

"What is it?" he demanded forcefully. "What happened? Are you hurt?"

Mia ran over to her father and tightly wrapped her arms around him, all pretend dignity forgotten. She wailed into his shirt, and Erik looked at Christine helplessly. Christine shrugged, as confused as Erik.

"Come with me, my sweet," Erik crooned. Mia allowed herself to be led into the front sitting room, Erik's long arm fixed firmly around her shoulders. Christine looked outside and saw that Mia's tiny little car was parked in the driveway, and through the windows she could also see that the backseat was piled high with boxes and luggage.

"Oh dear," Christine murmured. She shut the door and went to her family. They were sitting on the couch, Mia still crying noisily into her hands, Erik awkwardly trying to comfort her.

"My pet, don't cry," he said softly.

"I know," she said thickly, wiping her cheeks with her wrists. "It's so stupid, but—but—" And she burst into more tears.

It took many minutes, several tissues, and a cup of warm tea before Mia had calmed down enough to look at her parents with red-rimmed eyes.

"I don't want to go back to school," she finally whispered, looking down to stare at her tea.

Christine glanced at Erik and saw, with some alarm, that he looked positively delighted. However, when he glanced at his wife, he saw what she was thinking and quickly rearranged his features into worried concern.

"Why ever not?" he said. "It's good for you."

"I know," she sighed. "I just…I like learning new things, but I hate everything else." She looked at her father hopefully. "Can't I just stay here and have you teach me everything?"

Erik looked sorely tempted to answer yes to her question, but he blinked and said, "What do you hate about it?"

Mia sniffed and then gushed, "My roommate is an idiot, and I hate her stupid boyfriend who's always over. The other girls in my apartment are nice, but they don't care about anything except the boys across the hall. I hate grocery shopping, I hate being away from you guys, and…" She stared at her hands and whispered with mortification, "There are some people in my piano class who are better than I am."

Erik looked surprised and appalled by the statement, but Christine actually laughed a little.

"Darling, don't worry. Everything you said is perfectly normal for new college students. Everyone goes up and hates some roommates, wants to go home, and there will always, _always _be someone who's better than you at something."

"That's not true," Mia said hotly. "No one's a better than Daddy at anything."

Christine thought for a moment and conceded. "All right, but he's an exception. The point, dear, is that it's simply part of college life. It's part of growing up."

"I don't want to grow up," Mia said stubbornly. "I want to stay home."

Both Erik and Mia watched Christine keenly as she observed them quietly. She knew that Erik wanted Mia to stay home forever, forever be his little princess, but Mia was a young woman, and it was time for her to embrace the new challenges life had to offer.

"It's not our decision to make," Christine finally said softly. "You have to decide what will be best for you, and we will, of course, be behind whatever you choose."

There was silence, and then Mia shot to her feet, her eyes flashing. "I hate it when you do that!" she raged, stomping to the front door. "Ugh! Why are you always right? Fine! Fine! I'll go! I'll stay at school and learn so much and deal with my stupid roommates! _But I won't like it!_" So saying, she slammed the door shut behind her.

Erik and Christine sat in stunned silence, staring at the door. Mia opened it again and shouted, "I won't!" And she slammed it shut again.

After another moment, she ran in once more and hugged her father tightly.

"But can I stay here tonight?"

* * *

For the past eight months, Mia had lived at her school. She made the drive home about once a month, to spend the weekend, but it still wasn't enough for Erik.

"We're very lucky," Christine said to him. "She doesn't live very far away. Imagine if she would have gone somewhere far away."

Mia had gradually adjusted to university life, and she was in love.

"It's amazing," she told her parents one Sunday morning. "I just sit and learn about music all day long. And I can play the piano for as long as I like! I don't have to learn about stupid math anymore."

She often brought homework and projects home, and Erik was only too happy to help. Most of her schoolwork dealt with tricky technicalities, like the little differences between augmented, diminished, and harmonic scales. Christine realized that Erik had only briefly touched over theory with her, and she later asked him why.

"You are a singer," he said. "You were not made to know the differences between a plagal and perfect cadence. I'd much rather you spend your time understanding what 'raise your soft pallet' means than pointing out a dominant seventh chord."

"I'm not stupid," she said hotly.

"I never said you were, my love," he replied.

"But you act like I am. Everyone thinks that singers are the stupidest musicians in the world!"

"That's because, for many, it's true." He ignored her angered expression and tucked some hair behind her ear. "Not for you, of course. You, sweetest, are exceptionally bright. You sight-read very well, you have a good sense of intonation, and you know all of your accents. That's what I would like in a singer. I'm more concerned with your voice and its quality than what sort of theory you know."

She had let the issue die out, though sometimes she felt a little left out when the two of them talked about things she did not understand. But she knew it was a good outlet for both of them—to have someone who actually understood what they were discussing.

In an effort to keep some sort of relationship and bond between her and her daughter, Christine liked to drag her away from Erik for a few hours so the two of them could discuss silly girl things—boys, movies, clothing, exercise—all things that Christine encouraged her daughter to pursue. However, the conversation inevitably went back to Mia's music classes. Once she made a scathing remark about the vocal performance majors who crowded up the practice rooms, and it hurt Christine's feelings terribly. Then she had to remind herself that she was a famous, talented, beloved star whose rise to fame had been unprecedented and had come without any useful contacts or any lewd behavior. Christine had done it with Erik's help, but ultimately it was _her _voice and _her _performing onstage. She was successful, and she contented herself in that.

However, those little slips did not deter Christine from spending time alone with her only child, whom she missed terribly while away. She missed the odd noises and fun little arguments that had made her life interesting while Mia was still living at home. Sometimes she caught herself hoping that she would become pregnant again just so she could have those things back. She would then remind herself that if Erik hadn't impregnated her again in nineteen years, it was unlikely that such a thing was going to happen. And for a bizarre reason, it made her sad, which led to further time with her daughter.

Most of the time spent with Mia was wonderful, but there were a few slip-ups that happened occasionally, and one stood out vividly in Christine's memory; she knew it would remain permanently.

It had been Mia's spring break, and she drove the few hours to spend her days off with her family. On a regular Saturday morning, Christine dragged her daughter out of the house and to the store. Christine hated shopping, but she had always found it only slightly more bearable when she was shopping with someone else. So Mia had come, grumbling a little at being dragged away from the grand piano.

"Just for an hour or so," Christine said as they pulled in. "We're out of a lot of things."

"Fine, whatever," Mia sighed, climbing out and following her mother into the store.

"This is fun, isn't it?" Christine said bracingly, picking up some soap.

Mia shrugged. "I hate shopping," she said simply. "There are so many people here…"

"You go to a university," Christine said, raising an eyebrow. "There are a lot of people there, too."

"Yeah, but you don't really have to see them if you don't want to," Mia said, touching some toothpaste idly as they walked. "Especially in the music building, and I practically live there. You can just shut yourself away in a practice room for hours and hours."

"Don't you want to make friends?" Christine asked, a little concerned about her daughter's eerily familiar reclusive habits.

She shrugged again. "I don't really care," she said. "I'm at school to learn. I mean, yeah, I have friends, but I don't need to be with them all the time."

Christine stopped and bent down to look at the price of mousse, saying, "Well, just as long as you're doing what you want, dear. But I really think you should make an effort to, you know, be _social_. Most people are really just nice, and I think you'd like—"

"Mom, you're in the way," Mia interrupted.

Christine looked and saw that her shopping cart was blocking another. "Oops!" She stood quickly and pulled it away. "Sorry!" When she saw who was pushing the shopping cart, her heart dropped a little.

"This store seems to have something for both of us, doesn't it?" Raoul laughed. Without another word, he walked around and hugged her tightly. "How are you, Little Lotte?"

"I'm—great," she stuttered. He stepped back to smile at her again. Christine couldn't help but notice that many years had been especially good to him. His hair was still thick and brilliant, his eyes still blue and bright. He looked very handsome, just as Christine had known he would always be.

Raoul grinned again as he looked at Mia. "I remember you," he said. Mia looked positively baffled and glanced uncertainly at her mother, who couldn't help but smile just a little.

"But it was a long time ago," Raoul said. "Wow. It's amazing how fast time goes, isn't it? You must have been four years old. You both look great, by the way."

Christine suddenly noticed three boys lagging behind him, watching the scene with silent confusion. Raoul caught Christine looking and turned quickly.

"Oh! These are my boys," he said, gesturing. "This is Ian, he's sixteen. And Jackson, who's thirteen. And that's Keaton, who just turned eight." All three looked exactly like Raoul. Christine felt a little faint.

However, she managed to smile at them and say to Raoul, "It's I-J-K, just like the alphabet. That's sweet."

He laughed. "That's exactly what Danielle said. She probably did it on purpose."

Christine laughed a little herself. "Speaking of your wife, where is she?"

"Home," one of Raoul's boys piped up.

"What? She sent you here all by yourself? Four boys in a store like this is a disaster!"

"You're right about that," Raoul said. "It's her birthday tomorrow, and we're…hopeless."

"Tomorrow?" Christine grinned.

"What can I say?" Raoul said, shrugging. "I think my best excuse is that I'm a man."

"And it's probably the only one you have," Christine replied teasingly. "Well, what do you have so far?" She looked into the cart and laughed again. It was a sporadic assortment of things: a candy bar, an ugly card, some hair ties, a picture frame, and some lipstick.

"I picked out the card!" Raoul's youngest son said proudly, pointing to it.

"It's wonderful," Christine said, looking to Raoul and smiling. "This is great."

"It's a miracle that she hasn't thrown me out of the house," Raoul said good-naturedly. He furrowed his brow and said a little hesitantly, "You aren't…in a hurry, are you, Christine?"

"Not really," she said. She ignored Mia's gentle nudge.

"Would you mind?" he asked, waving a hand at the items in his cart. "We're a little lost and could use a woman's touch."

"Not at all," Christine said graciously. She looked at her daughter and said, "Why don't you finish up with our things while I help Raoul?" Mia stared at her as if she had lost her mind.

"Mom, what are you doing?" she hissed.

"Helping out an old friend," Christine replied lowly, snappishly. "I'm not doing anything wrong!"

Mia raised an eyebrow, grabbed the cart, and marched off without another word. Christine turned around just in time to see Raoul's three boys run off in the opposite direction, leaving her and Raoul very much alone.

"I told them to go look at toys and bikes and movies and whatever they wanted," Raoul said. He began walking down the aisle.

"They're lovely boys," she said, following him awkwardly. Her heart was pounding loudly.

"Yeah, I'm lucky to have them. I definitely don't deserve them. And I don't deserve Danielle." He laughed and picked up the hair ties, tossing them onto a shelf. "I have no idea what I'm doing."

"Well, what do you usually do for birthdays and such?"

"I call my mother-in-law," Raoul said. "She's a terrible woman, but she always has good ideas. She's on vacation in Spain right now and I can't get a hold of her. So it's really lucky I bumped into you!"

"Yeah," Christine said. "I'm glad I could help."

"So," he said conversationally, "is your daughter your only child?"

"Yes."

"How old is she now? Twenty?"

"Nineteen. Amazing, isn't it? I can't ever remember being that young."

He laughed. "_I_ remember when we were that young. I remember being younger—the summers by the sea. Those were the best of my life."

She felt pressured to reply with something similar, but she only made a noncommittal noise in her throat and looked at the items on the shelf.

"How does she decorate?" Christine asked. "Maybe we could find her something nice along that vein."

She watched him think, remembering all the little things he did. His left eyebrow rose just a little, and he looked toward the ceiling, a small frown on his lips. "The house is blue and white."

"That's all you're giving me to work with?" she said, smiling. "Well, what kind of blue?"

"The…regular kind," he said. He looked at her and then laughed again. "I'm sorry, Christine. I wish I could help you more."

"Tell me what she likes to do," she said. She picked up the candy bar and lipstick and took it out of the cart. After examining the picture frame (which was a terrible shade of purple), she took it out as well.

"She likes taking care of the boys," he said. "She's super-mom." He glanced at her and smiled. "I'll bet you're a super-mom too. I couldn't believe it when I heard you started singing again. I actually saw you one night—that production of _Manon_. I thought you were amazing."

As they talked, Christine couldn't help but notice that they seemed like a perfectly ordinary couple. They were both the right age, both had wedding rings, both laughing and smiling as if they had had years and years of time together. And once she realized that, she stopped.

"Then I went back to the house and—Christine?" He turned around and saw her standing there. "Are you all right?"

"No—yes." She could only imagine Erik's face when he found out, and it made her sick. "I'm fine. But I'm sorry, Raoul, I think this…This was a mistake."

He frowned. "What? Why?"

"We're both married," she said, a little desperately.

"I know," he said, looking more confused than ever. "But Christine, we're just two old friends. It's not like I'm going to ask you out to dinner or something. You're helping me shop. There's nothing wrong with that."

"_I _know that, but…" She twisted her wedding ring around her finger.

He saw. "Oh. Him." There was a moment of silence in which she confirmed his statement. He stepped a little closer and said softly, "Christine, I know you said twenty years ago that you had made up your mind, that you knew what you were doing…But I'm going to ask you right now, with years of marriage to him behind you. Are you sure that—?"

"Don't ask me that," she said fiercely. "My answer hasn't changed."

"But this relationship is obviously unhealthy," he said worriedly. "If you're scared of seeing an old friend—if you're afraid of what he might do to you if he found out…"

"We both know that it's only you he doesn't want me seeing." Then she flushed bright red.

"This run-in was a complete coincidence," he said. "You couldn't have controlled it."

"But I agreed to shop with you, spend time with you alone!" she replied, sounding frantic, even to her own ears. "How could I have done this to him? And Mia doesn't know anything about us. She's going to mention it to him, and he's going to make all the wrong assumptions! He always does!"

"Christine, listen to yourself!" he said. "How could you stay when you're afraid of him like this? I've never understood your decision, but I respected and loved you enough to let you choose for yourself. But when I see you like this, terrified of your own spouse, afraid to tell him you saw an old friend at the store…"

"I have to go," she said instantly. She couldn't answer his questions. Raoul hadn't ever—and couldn't ever—understand Erik.

"Wait, please, Christine." When he took her arm, she jerked away violently.

"Don't touch me!" she said. A few passing people looked around curiously to watch.

"No, just wait a minute," he said. He pulled out his wallet and took out a business card. "Give me a pen, please."

"No! What are you doing?" she asked angrily.

Quickly, he went over to a counter and picked up one that rested there. After scribbling something down on the back of the card, he walked over to Christine and held it out to her.

"Here," he said. "Take it, please. Even if you're just going to go home and throw it away, please take it and think about what I've said. And if you ever need anything—_anything_—come to me right away."

With shaking fingers, she took it from his hand and stuffed it into her pocket.

"Goodbye," she said, her voice trembling in attempt to cover up the anxiety and terror she was feeling. Without waiting for him to respond, she left the store, running to the car when she saw it. After sliding in and locking the doors, she burst into shuddering sobs, trying to wipe away the tears as they came. She didn't want Mia to see her crying like a little girl.

"Okay," she whispered to herself, taking in a deep, quivering breath. "Just breathe. Okay. You're fine."

It wasn't so much she was afraid of Erik—she was afraid for him. She was frightened of what he might think when he found out. He had changed a lot in the past years, but he was still bitterly jealous and volatile. The two of them had built up a fragile relationship of trust and acceptance over the last twenty years of their marriage, and Christine was terrified she had destroyed it in as many minutes.

She knew that there was only friendship and respect behind Raoul's easy laughter and speech. He was happily married with three beautiful children. But a second glance, a certain word, a single gesture could drive Erik into fits of jealousy, and Christine knew that if he discovered she had willingly spent time alone with Raoul, he would not be understanding.

"Just go home and tell him what happened," she said out loud, wiping away a few more tears. "Tell him, and _don't _lie to him. You've learned that that only makes things ten times worse."

There was a knock on the other door, and she jumped a little before turning to see Mia standing outside, waiting and looking very bored. Quickly, she unlocked the doors, and Mia slid into the seat.

"I'm glad you came out," Christine said, trying to sound cheerful. She was highly aware that her eyes were still watery and red. "I was finished, so I came out here to wait."

"Yeah, and ran away with the money, too," Mia said. "I only had five bucks in my pocket, so I bought what I could. Meaning I bought two peaches." She pulled one out of the bag. "Can I eat one?"

Christine nodded. "Sorry, I just got a little sidetracked. Let's go home. I don't want to shop anymore."

Mia readily agreed, and the drive was long and awkward. Tears kept slipping out of Christine's eyes, and even though she tried to brush them away as discreetly as she could, Mia was not blind.

"Are you okay, Mom?" she finally ventured.

"I'm fine," Christine said instantly.

"Are you sure? And you just missed the turn," Mia said, pointing.

"Yes, I'm sure!" she said, sounding hysterical. "I just…smashed my finger in the car door, all right?"

"Okay," Mia said hesitantly. They continued in silence until they pulled into their house after a long detour by Christine. When she turned off the car, they sat quietly for another minute.

"I won't tell him anything," Mia finally said, her voice soft.

"There's nothing to tell him," Christine said, looking at her angrily.

"All right," Mia said. She opened the door. "But it needs to be you. You know it will only get worse if you don't tell him right away." So saying, she got out of the car and went into the house.

Christine looked in the rearview mirror for a minute, pinching her pale cheeks and biting her lips to give color to her otherwise bloodless face. Her eyes looked a little red, but at least she wasn't crying outright anymore. Taking one last shaking breath, she got out of the car and went inside, inhaling the familiar smells of her own home.

Mia was chatting away with him in the kitchen. Christine saw some blueprints spread out onto the table, meaning he had been working while they were gone.

"I send you away for an hour and you come back with a piece of fruit," Erik said, looking at her. His brow furrowed immediately. "You've been crying," he said, no question in his voice.

"No, I…" She furiously thought of an excuse.

"I made her take me out on the way home," Mia said quickly. "We had spicy food. You know she can't eat it without bawling."

He still looked slightly suspicious but said nothing else. Christine cast an appreciative look toward her daughter before announcing she was going to take a nap.

"What is it?" Erik said.

"My head hurts," she replied, though she was being completely truthful. She then climbed the stairs to the bedroom and entered, shutting the door behind her. After pulling the shades, she kicked off her jeans and pulled off her shirt, tossing them into the corner and sighing. The bed was large and cool, and she groaned gratefully as she climbed in. _Tonight_, she told herself. _I'll tell him tonight after I put him in a good mood. I'll just calmly explain what happened. It will be fine. _With one last shuddering breath, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

What felt like days and days later, she woke herself up, feeling groggy. The mattress weight shifted slightly, and she felt one of Erik's smooth, cool hands on her neck.

"How do you feel, my darling?" he asked softly.

She moaned sluggishly in response, and she heard him chuckle before feeling his lips press to her forehead. As she blinked herself awake, she could hear the piano being played downstairs. The sun was orange in the room, filtered and muffled by the shades.

"How long have I been asleep?" she rasped, stretching like a cat and smiling a little at him.

"A few hours," he said. "I hope I did not wake you."

"No, I needed to get up," she said, rubbing her face and yawning.

He laughed again. "You are quite adorable. Have I ever told you that?"

"Mm, probably," she said, still smiling. After another kiss, he stood. Christine pushed her hair out of her face and spent another few minutes yawning herself fully awake.

"What do you want for dinner?" she asked, rolling over to look at the time. "I need to do something with those vegetables, so what do you think?" When he didn't answer, she sat up to look at him. "Erik?"

He was standing in the corner, her jeans held listlessly in one hand, something small in his other one. He was staring at it, his face blank, his eyes unreadable. Christine felt her stomach disappear, and her heart jumped up to her throat. She had completely forgotten about Raoul's card that she had put in her pocket.

"Oh," she said, her voice sounding tight and high-pitched. "I ran into Raoul at the store today. His wife's birthday is soon, and he asked me to help him pick out a gift. He usually asks his mother-in-law, but she's in Spain, and he was kind of lost. So he gave me his card so I could think of something and call him. Funny, isn't it? He's not good at giving gifts like you are, Erik." She realized she was rambling and her words were becoming jumbled. She bit her lip and watched Erik.

"And…" Erik cleared his throat. "It was necessary to write his address on the back as well, I see."

It was not the way she wanted him to find out. She had planned it all out for that night, planned to calmly explain what happened and tell him that she hadn't seen Raoul in fifteen years.

"I didn't know that," Christine said. "I don't know why he did."

A pressing, terrible silence followed, and Christine slid out of the bed, approaching him slowly.

"Erik," she said. "Please say something. I know you're upset…I promise it's nothing."

He continued to stare at the card. His breath was becoming ragged, and Christine felt her throat tighten in fear. Shaking, she put a hand on his arm.

"I thought…" he whispered harshly. He sucked in a deep breath and closed his eyes.

When she tried to wrap her arms around him, he stepped back quickly, dropping her jeans to the floor but still clenching Raoul's card.

"Erik, I swear that's what happened," Christine said, feeling panicked and desperate. "I was at the store with Mia. We just ran into each other! It was a complete accident. Please, Mia can tell you."

"Mia was with you?" he hissed suddenly, grabbing her upper arm. "She was with you and said nothing about it. She lied to me."

"I told her to do it," Christine said, not even attempting to pull away from his grip. "I said that I needed to be the one to tell you. She didn't want to, but I asked her. Don't be upset with her! She didn't do anything wrong at all."

"Why should I believe anything you say to me?" he spat, shaking her. "You are nothing but a deceitful snake. You disgust me."

"No, please," she begged. "Why won't you listen to me? Why won't you trust me? I'm your wife!"

"And apparently that means nothing to you!" he screamed. He was not holding back any longer; he was enraged.

"No, it means everything to me!" she said, looking at him beseechingly, trying, once again, to break through that wall of bitterness that he had constructed around himself. "It's the only thing I want to be! I don't care if I never sing again! I only want to be with you."

"How dare you say that to me when I hold _this_—" he held the card up between his long fingers "—in my hand? How dare you?"

"I don't care about that," Christine said. "You can rip it up right now. I was going to throw it away." When she tried to put a hand on his face, he grabbed it with his other hand and held it tightly. The pressure on her arm was growing, and she wasn't able to swallow a small gasp of pain.

"Please, let go," she whispered. "You're hurting me."

"Oh, this hurts you, does it?" he said. She squeezed her eyes shut and nodded, feeling his hot breath ruffle the top of her hair as he looked down at her. "Do you know how much _this _hurts me?" He held the card up to her eyes. She saw Raoul's name in a professional blue font above a business phone number and personal number.

"If you would just listen to me!" she said, trying to crane her neck to look him in the eye. She was very close to him, and he was much too tall. She could only see his throat. "I'm telling you the truth! I haven't seen Raoul in fifteen years!"

"Don't fret, I believe you," he said icily, and his grip did not loosen. "I simply want to know how many there have been before this. How many cards do you have stashed away? How many addresses and numbers are in your memory?"

"Only one—only ours! You _know _I'm telling the truth! You know it! Why won't you believe me?"

"Because no one wants to stay with a monster!" he roared. He shook her so hard her knees gave way, and she buckled. His grip on her arm was still strong, though, and so she grabbed his waist to regain some sort of bizarre balance, her head buried in his stomach. She was crying freely, her head pounding, wanting to remember when it had all gone so terribly wrong.

To her surprise, Erik let go, and she tumbled to the ground. Between his long legs, she saw the door to their bedroom had opened. When she realized Mia was in the room, an overwhelming sense of shame and guilt came crashing into her, and she cried harder.

"Leave her alone!" Mia snapped.

Erik whirled around, and Christine shut her eyes, wanting to disappear. Their angry voices came to her, and she heard everything that they said.

"Get out," Erik snarled.

"No. Not unless you calm down and stop bullying her!"

"You have no idea what you're saying!"

Mia let out a harsh, short laugh. "I know exactly what I'm saying! I've lived here for years. I know what goes on! And I'm not going to let you push her around anymore!"

"You're a silly, spoiled, naïve little girl. Go back downstairs and play on your piano."

"_You're _the spoiled one!_ You _go downstairs and play the piano! We both love you too much to tell you when you're being stupid! Well, this is enough. You're being stupid, Dad! If you'd stop feeling so sorry for yourself all the time, you'd realize how much Mom has given up to be your wife! And if you'd look past your own problems for one second of the day, you'd see how much she does for you! But no. You just sit around and complain and expect us to feel sorry for you and fawn over you all the time! Don't you think it's a miracle that Mom is still here with you the way that you treat her? Well, I do! So I'm not going to let this happen anymore! She deserves more than you're giving her!"

Christine found her voice then, though it was cracked and trembling. "Mia, please…I don't…"

"Don't you degrade yourself," Mia said instantly, looking at her. "You know that everything I'm saying is true. He's just afraid that you'll realize that you're an amazing person and you deserve more than this. You deserve more than being screamed at and being pushed down all the time."

Erik took a step toward his daughter, and Christine instantly reached out and grabbed his ankle, afraid that he was intent on harming Mia in some way. Quickly, though, he pulled his leg away, walked around Mia and left the room, not even bothering to slam the door on his way out. They both listened as he slowly walked down the stairs. The front door opened and shut. Then it was silent.

Christine burst into more tears, burying her face in her hands. She couldn't remember a time feeling worse. Wasn't she a grown woman? Couldn't she take care of herself? Couldn't she handle her own husband? Her _daughter _had to come in and defend her?

Something warm and soft settled around her shoulders, and she looked to see that Mia had pulled some blankets off the bed and draped them around her.

"Th-thank you," she managed, wiping away the fast-falling tears with her wrists as best she could. Mia sat beside her and wrapped her arms around her skinny legs, bringing her knees up to her chest.

"Wow," Mia said quietly. "That was pretty freaky. D'you know, I've been rehearsing that speech for months now. It was crazy to actually say it. And completely scary. Probably, like, the scariest thing I've ever done. It was worth it, though. Did you see his face?"

"I c-could only imagine," Christine hiccoughed. "What did he look like?"

"Like I had punched him in the face," Mia said. She pulled the blankets around Christine a little tighter, making sure she was completely covered and warm. "Are you okay?"

Christine nodded shakily. "Fine."

"Let me see your arm." Gently, Mia extracted it from the blanket and looked. She pressed two fingers to the spot that Erik had been holding, and Christine gasped as hot pain shot up her arm.

"It'll probably bruise," Mia said, sighing a little. "I always used to wonder why you'd have bruises on your wrists every so often."

"He's a lot stronger than he realizes," Christine said.

"No, he knows exactly how strong he is," Mia responded instantly. "He knows just how hard he has to press to bruise the skin."

"But he doesn't mean to," Christine said, frowning a little. "You know how he gets. His temper…"

"Yeah, but even so, taking it out on you is just plain awful."

"Today was my fault. I shouldn't have gone with Raoul."

"But instead of listening to you explain what happened, he freaked out and screamed at you, like always."

"Your father is—" Christine began somewhat heatedly.

"Look, I _know _how much you love him," Mia interrupted quickly. "I get it, all right?" She sighed and leaned her head against Christine's shoulder. "You know, I always thought that Dad was the perfect man. I grew up with him as my idol. He was everything. He was amazing. But then I moved away, and it gave me a lot of time to think…And I realized just how—well, _broken _he really is. All those times your bedroom door was locked, all those times he shut himself up in his study for days at a time…He's not the perfect guy I always made him out to be. And it really hurt when I understood that. I actually cried myself to sleep for, like, a week. I still know that he's an incredible man. He's the most talented musician I've ever heard. My memories of him are all amazing. He'd never hurt me, and I know he loves me a lot."

"What are you trying to say?" Christine said.

Mia sighed a little. "I meant everything I said to him. _You're _the perfect parent."

Despite her current feelings, Christine giggled weakly. "What?"

"You are the most patient person I've ever met," Mia said. "You're the sweetest, kindest, most sympathetic person on the planet, I swear. If I purposely burned the house down, you'd tap me on the butt, sweetly tell me not to do it again, and give me a cookie. It's no wonder he worships the ground you walk on. You're his complete opposite." Mia laughed and said, "Want to know a secret? The reason I never really went to you for anything?"

Unable to help herself, Christine nodded immediately.

"It's because I was so intimidated by you," Mia said, grinning. "Even without him telling me every day about how amazing and wonderful and talented and beautiful and perfect you are, I still would have thought it all myself. You're this gorgeous, smart, sweet woman, and I'm a scrawny, ugly, bratty little girl." When Christine tried to protest, Mia interrupted again. "Mom, it's okay. I know who I am. But that's why I practiced the piano so hard. I knew you didn't play, and I wanted him to pay more attention to me. I mean, I just love it now, but it wasn't like that at the beginning. I didn't know why I was doing it when I was three or whatever, but as I got older I just practiced more and more so he would have to keep helping me, keep teaching me. It was so much easier to talk to him because…well, I feel like we have more things in common."

"I'm so sorry you felt that way," Christine said softly. "I had no idea."

"It's okay," Mia said, shrugging a little. "And I want to tell you that I think he exploded today because of me. While you were sleeping, I told him about this guy at school I really like. I asked him for some advice. I'm pretty sure it freaked him out a lot. Sorry, Mom. I didn't think he'd take it that way."

"I never know how he'll take anything," Christine said. She pulled the blankets around herself tighter and closed her eyes, feeling exhausted and sick. "I hope he comes back soon. I'm worried."

"He'll come back, Mom. It's all right. He likes you too much to stay away. But he's just off somewhere thinking about what I said and feeling really bad about it, because he knows I'm right."

They were silent for a while, and then Christine said, "Mia, darling, I know you love both of us. I know you think that I deserve better, like you just said. But I want you to know that I love your father so much. And maybe our relationship isn't exactly normal, but it's pushed us through twenty years, and hopefully twenty more. We love each other. Through all of this silly fighting, we still love each other."

"You don't have to tell me that you guys are in love," Mia said, nudging her mother playfully. "I'm still embarrassed to be around when you guys are in the same room for more than thirty seconds."

Christine managed to laugh and blush a little. "You really are remarkable," Christine said. "You're not even completely independent and you're so much stronger than I ever was."

"Thanks," Mia said, still smiling. "But I just think it's because I have a really bad temper—not because of anything else. You know, you keep me and dad grounded. Like when you call me to make sure I've eaten." She laughed again. "I need those calls because sometimes I _do _forget to eat real meals."

"You are _exactly _like your father," Christine said, smiling. Just as soon as she said it, she sobered, worry coming back to her as she remembered that Erik had left the house. Mia saw her expression and said softly,

"He'll be back soon, Mom. I promise. Don't worry." She stood up and continued, "I'll make dinner tonight. What do you want?"

Christine shook her head. "I'm not hungry. I think I just want to go to bed. Go ahead and make yourself whatever you like, though."

"Are you sure?" Mia asked. When Christine nodded, she said, "All right. Goodnight. See you tomorrow."

Christine crawled back into the bed, dragging the blankets with her, staring at the door that Mia had just walked out of. Minutes crawled by—hours for all she knew. She stared at the knob, willing it to twist, for Erik to walk in and slide in beside her, as if the entire day had never happened. But the knob was still, and Christine's eyes were growing heavy. Before she could even try to fight it, she fell asleep.

With a start, she woke. It was a sudden thing, as if her body had something important to tell her. It was black outside the window. She sat up and saw that a dim light was coming from the hallway. Hurriedly, she slipped out of bed and left the room. The light was shining from Erik's study. With a pounding heart, she went to it and pushed open the door. His back was to her, and he did not turn around when he heard. He continued to pull things down from the shelves.

"You're back," she said a little breathlessly. She watched him for a moment before asking, "What are you doing, exactly?"

"Packing," he said softly.

She went to stand beside him, looking up. He was wearing his mask. "Why?"

"Because Mia is right," Erik said. He stacked some books neatly. "You deserve more than I give you."

"What?" Christine choked. "So you're just going to _leave?_"

"Of course."

Christine had known him for a long time. She could hear the slightest tremor in his voice that no one else could have detected. "But what about Mia?" she said. "What about her schooling?"

"I will send whatever money she needs," he said. "She will not go wanting."

"And what about me? What am I going to do when you leave?"

"You shall continue singing, of course," he said, as if it was the only thing that mattered. "I shall send you enough. And you shall find someone who deserves you…if such a man exists."

"So the past twenty years have meant nothing to you?"

"They mean everything to me. I would not give them up for anything in the world."

"What about what you've always said to me?" she demanded. "That you're never going to let me go, that you always want to be with me?"

"Darling, I meant what I said. I never will let you go. And of course I always want to be with you, but more than anything I want you to be happy and cared for."

She knew that getting upset would not help anything—she had cried too much over the past twelve hours, but she could not stop the hot, infuriated tears that stung her eyes.

"Do you even hear yourself?" she said. "Haven't I told you every day how happy _you_ make me? You care for me like it's your only purpose in life. If you leave, you're taking away what I want!"

"Sometimes you do not know what is best for you," he replied, his voice infuriatingly calm.

"I don't care!" she cried. "I don't care what you think I need! I _want you_, Erik. It's me that doesn't deserve you. Please, please stay with me."

He picked up his books. Without thinking, she jerked them from his hand and threw them to the ground. When he looked at her, she could tell that he had raised an eyebrow.

"Fine," he said, stepping over them. "If you wish to keep them, that's fine."

Before he could take another step, she threw her arms around him and held on tightly.

"I'm out of talks," she said. "I'm out of things to say to you to reassure you. I just want you to think of everything I've said to you over our marriage and remember. I need you in my life. Mia needs you. Please."

There was a long silence. Christine tightened her arms around him, all the while perfectly aware that he could easily pry himself from her grip. Slowly, he brought his hand down and stroked her arm gently.

"I hurt you today," he finally whispered.

"You didn't mean to."

"That doesn't matter," he replied shortly. "I continually hurt you…_abuse _you…It's a terrible knowledge. It's embarrassing. I hate myself more every time I raise my voice, every time an angry thought comes to me. You are the last person to deserve that kind of treatment."

"When we first got engaged," Christine said quietly, "I knew what I was accepting. I knew what kind of person you were. But I still said yes. You've had a life that's affected you, and I know it. And if dealing with that means that you're still in my life, then I accept it. I want to help you with anything and everything. And sometimes in your…tempers…you tell me something that I never knew. It helps me understand a little more."

"No," he said firmly. "You should not have to handle my violence to help me."

She shrugged. "Maybe not. But I do, and I'm perfectly fine with it." After another moment, she sighed. "Can we just go to bed? I'm freezing."

"You want to go to bed and act as if this never happened?" he said, a little angrily.

"No," she said patiently, though she stepped back and tugged on his arm. "I want to go to bed and know that it _did_ happen. And know that we're better for it. We're both sorry for what happened."

"You shouldn't be," he insisted. He took a few steps to the door, following her.

"No, I should," she replied evenly. "I knew just how upset you'd be when you found out. I knew better, but I still did it. I made a mistake. And I'm sorry."

"You should have the right to see whoever you want," he said, sounding a little miserable as he admitted it. They were in the hallway, Christine still patiently pulling him along.

"I have the right to decide things for myself," she said. "I've decided to listen and obey the wishes of my husband. And my husband doesn't like it when I see certain people. So I'm not going to."

He sighed heavily as they stepped into the bedroom. "No matter what else you may think of me, angel, just know that I want what you want."

"Great." She crawled under the sheets and patted the spot next to her. "What I want is to go to sleep. I'm freezing and really tired."

A little awkwardly and hesitantly, as if he had not done it thousands of times before, he followed her unspoken command. She pressed her cold nose into his neck and sighed contentedly.

"Be here when I wake up," she said, a little drowsily.

In spite of everything that had happened, he felt his lips tug just a little. He had had every intention of leaving, though his secret hope had been for Christine to come in and stop him. And she had fulfilled his silent dream—like she had been doing every day for the past twenty years. He loved her all the more for it.

"Of course," he said.


	9. Chapter 9

It was very late, and Christine wanted to get home as soon as she could, but a chilly rain made the roads dangerous, and so she drove slowly. The heater was blowing comfortably, and she had pretty piano music playing. It relaxed her after a long day of strenuous rehearsal. She had also been worrying about her daughter, who, although a good driver, was living several hours north and attending the university there. It had reputations for notorious winter storms, and every night Christine spent a few minutes worrying if her daughter was safe and happy.

With the absence of Mia from the house, Christine suddenly found free time to perform and travel, and Erik was enthused that she was still quite famous. It was getting difficult keeping matching schedules for them all to meet together, but Christine always made sure to keep Mia's school breaks empty from performances. Such a break was coming up in a few short weeks. Christine's current production was going to be a short run, but she had agreed just because of that and the fact that the venue was near to her home. It wasn't often that she was able to sleep in her own bed after a night of performing. She knew that Erik was appreciative of that fact as well. He hated traveling, and he tried to hide it for her sake, but he simply couldn't demand that Christine perform in one place for the rest of her career. The world still adored her and demanded her. She knew that one time he had roamed the world, unwilling to stay in one country for a prolonged period of time, but his methods of travel then had been…unconventional. And the idea of being crammed in with other people for extended hours made him jittery.

Christine was sure he was worrying about her driving in such weather, and so she debated for a moment on whether to drive faster to reach him more quickly or to drive slower to increase her safety. She hated the thought of him all alone in the house. It reminded her of his years of solitude under the Opera House, and those were not memories she wished to keep. She didn't want him to dwell on those either.

For the thousandth time that day, she thought of Mia and missed her.

She sighed and gripped the steering wheel tightly but brightened a little when she came upon the familiar landmarks that told her she was close to her home. She wondered what Erik would be doing—reading, perhaps. He had been doing that a lot lately. Every few days he left and returned with a new book, which he would devour the same night. He usually brought her back something as well, and she suddenly felt excited as she wondered what odd little thing he could have picked up for her. By the time she was pulling into the house, she was smiling a little.

"Erik?" she called to the silent house when she walked inside. "I'm home!"

There was stillness, which signified he was probably too immersed in something to even hear her.

She was busy unpacking her purse in the hall when her phone went off. She picked it up and squinted at the caller ID. _Mia_.

"Hello, darling," Christine said, struggling with her heavy coat as she tried to hang it up in the hall closet.

"_Hey, Mom! How's it going?_" Mia's voice was cheery, and Christine smiled slightly, unable to help herself.

"Things are fine," Christine said, finally giving up with her coat and draping it across a chair in the front room. "How are you?"

"_I'm great!_" Mia said, and then there was some hesitance as she said, "_Is…um, is Dad around?"_

"No, he's upstairs. Do you need to talk with him?"

"_No, no. I need to talk to you first."_

Christine actually sat down. Mia went to her father for nearly everything, but for _girl _things, she mostly went to her mother. Christine's head was swimming as she tried to think of something that would prompt such a call. Terrible thoughts immediately came to her mind. _Rape…pregnancy…Oh no…Erik is going to fall apart…_

"What's wrong?" she asked quickly, keeping her voice soft. She glanced up at the stairs and saw, with some relief, that the bedroom door was still shut.

"_It's about me coming home for my birthday."_

And a new wave of panic overrode her, just as it had for the past twenty-one years of her life. Mia always caused a certain amount of panic. Christine never really considered her day complete unless she was anxious about something. If Mia didn't return home for her birthday, Erik was going to fall into fits of sullenness, and that was certainly going to damper everything until she came back.

"Well, what about it?" Christine said, bracing herself for the worst.

"_I—well, I want to bring someone with me."_

"Oh, that's…fine," Christine said hesitantly, placing a hand over her heart. "Which roommate are you planning—?"

"_No, Mom. It's not one of my roommates. It's…he's my boyfriend."_

Christine blinked and stared at the storm outside the window. It had turned to sleet. She understood instantly why Mia had so adamantly insisted on speaking to her first. When Erik heard the news…Christine shivered.

"A boyfriend?" Christine choked quietly. "Why haven't you told us you have one?"

"_Oh, I don't know_," she wailed, knowing exactly what was running through Christine's head. "_It's all been kind of fast. We started dating, and I didn't want to tell you guys because it was just fun, but now we're pretty serious and…well…I want you and Daddy to meet him." _

Christine was quiet, still watching the sleet, her mind oddly blank. To her horror, she heard the door upstairs opening.

"Your father's coming," Christine hissed. It was always like a conspiracy when Erik was involved. "Let me talk to him. I'll call you tomorrow."

Mia did not ask questions. "_Thanks. Bye."_

And the line on the other end died.

"Christine? Was that Mia? Why didn't you tell me? I wanted to speak with her."

She turned and forced a smile. "I'm sorry, Erik," she said. "She just wanted to tell me the date she's coming home for her birthday. She had to hurry because of a rehearsal."

"Ah." He accepted the excuse, welcomed her home with a soft kiss to her forehead, and went over to his own piano, tall and elegant as ever. As she listened to him play, she furiously thought of some kind of plan, the way to best break it to Erik that his little princess had another prince in her life. Of course Erik was intelligent—of course he knew that the day would come—but it wouldn't make it any easier. Perhaps if she sang for him—yes, maybe it would put him in a good mood. She stood and went to the piano.

"Would you like to sing?" he asked, looking at her.

"Yes, please," she said, smiling and feeling her heart flutter. "I did a very terrible rendition of _Ah! Quel Dommage! _tonight."

"Quite the contrary," Erik said. "I thought you did an excellent job—something hard to do with the atrocity that's Meyerbeer."

"Why do you do that?" she asked. "Why don't you ever tell me you're going to be there?" She folded her arms huffily. "I _knew _you were there tonight! I knew it! But I told myself I was being silly. Why won't you ever speak with me? I want to talk to you."

"You need to be rehearsing," Erik said, unrelenting. "I don't wish to distract you."

"Still," Christine insisted, "it would be nice to drive home with you."

"It would be nice to sing this song," Erik said plainly. "And to do it without that terrible lead tenor ruining it every single time."

He warmed up the keys for a moment, Christine resisting the urge to smile. They began, and it was a wonderful hour or so, just as it had been, Erik teaching, Christine drinking in every word he said, once again enthralled by his mysterious power. It was during hours like that that Christine remembered just how much she loved singing. Sometimes the long rehearsals drained her, irritated her, made her want to quit and never step foot onstage again. But those hours with Erik, her voice soaring, reminded her of the deep connection she felt with beautiful music. The connection she felt with Erik.

He was in a very good mood when they climbed into bed later, and she immediately covered his face in soft kisses.

"All right," he said, a chuckle in his voice. "What is it?"

"What is what?" she murmured, feigning innocence.

"I know you're going to tell me something I won't like," he said, though he closed his eyes briefly when her lips covered his. "Don't try to deny it, you slippery little minx."

"All right, fine," she said, drawing away. "I'll tell you."

"You don't have to stop, though," he complained. He pulled her to him, and despite the pounding of her heart, she laughed and resumed her ministrations. Between kisses, she said,

"Mia's coming—home for—her birthday."

"I know," he said lazily, clearly enjoying the attention. Christine sighed and rested her cheek against Erik's, bracing herself as she said quietly,

"She's bringing someone with her."

"What?" He stiffened instantly, pulled away, and looked at her. "What? Who? Why?"

"It's…It's…"

"Well?" he demanded. "Out with it!"

"She's bringing home her boyfriend," Christine finally said, quickly and quietly. Erik stared. He blinked. He stared again. Then he sat up, shoved away the blankets, and stalked out of the room. Knowing full well that it would do nothing to follow him and try to console, she rolled over, closed her eyes, and managed to fall asleep, aware that the battle wasn't over.

She woke early that morning to organ music. He didn't play his organ very much anymore, preferring to accompany Christine on the piano or teach Mia. Christine readied herself to a very depressing song that echoed ominously throughout the house. She then went off to try to comfort him as best she could. She had more rehearsal that afternoon, and she was afraid that he would run off to Mia's apartment and drag her home while Christine was gone.

"Erik?"

He continued to play, and she went up and watched for a while. His long fingers were spread out over the swell, his feet gently moving over the pedals. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned against his skinny back, inhaling his familiar scent, closing her eyes, feeling him breathe softly.

The past few months had been rough for him. Ayesha had died after keeping Erik company for nearly twenty years, and he had been most upset, even though he tried to hide it. This new, sudden change couldn't have done anything to help.

"Would you like to talk about it?" she asked softly.

"Talk about what?" His voice was hollow. The organ was still moaning.

"You know what," Christine said, her voice still gentle. "It was only a matter of time—you know it. Besides, it's not like they're engaged. It's just a boyfriend. She's dated other guys before, and she's always been fine. She's a smart girl. You've raised her well. She'd only bring home the best."

"Even 'the best' will not be good enough!" Erik snapped irritably, pounding out a particularly dissonant chord. "She should focus on her schoolwork, she shouldn't be gallivanting with boys."

"She wouldn't talk to anyone if it interfered with her schooling," Christine said. "You know how much she wants to make you proud."

Erik _hmmphed_ in approval.

"He's only staying for a few days," Christine continued, rubbing his chest soothingly. "Mia really wants you to meet him. You don't even have to like him. Just do it for her, all right?"

His long fingers drew back from the swell, and he turned his head to look at her. "I don't want a stranger in my home," he said. His voice sounded weak, tired, as if he was drained from fighting things like this. Christine's heart ached for him. "I don't want—I don't want him staying with _her_. I'll be sick."

"Oh, they'll stay in separate rooms, sweetest," Christine assured quietly. "Don't worry. And we'll make sure that Mia's door is locked. Besides, you'll know instantly if something's wrong. You always do."

There was a deep moment of silence. Erik reached up with his large hand and grasped Christine's hands which were resting over his collarbone. Finally, he sighed in defeat.

"Very well," he whispered.

* * *

The date of Mia's arrival was finally upon them. It was a cloudy day with occasional bursts of snow. Christine made sure that she had done an extra-good job cleaning the house. She walked around happily, straightening the smallest things, wiping away invisible dust, humming to herself, and glancing at the clock. Mia had called before they left and said she expected they'd arrive in the late afternoon because of the time their classes ended—her estimated arrival was around five. And so Erik had to wait an entire torturous day. He brooded and pouted, glum and sullen, wandering around the house. He avoided Christine for a few hours, wanted her with him, and then went off to hide for another couple hours. Christine, too used to Erik to really be alarmed, simply tried to comfort him as best she could.

She was glad that she had managed to pull together a nice dinner, and the smells were wafting from the kitchen. It was almost five now, and Christine was growing increasingly excited. She hadn't seen Mia since her fall break, and, somehow, her daughter always managed to grow just a little more whenever she came home.

"Erik?" she called to the house distractedly, rearranging some books on a shelf. "Come down here and let me see what you're wearing!"

He ignored her, and she called to him again. "I know you can hear me! Come here! They'll be here any minute!"

A few moments later, she heard his heavy footsteps, and she turned to find him watching her gloomily. He looked nice, though—as always. She noticed that he had also slipped on a pair of gloves, and it surprised her greatly. She couldn't really remember the last time he had worn gloves in his house. But it was no use trying to talk him out of it.

"You look wonderful," she offered brightly. His eyes were dull. She spun around for him to see. "Well? What do you think?"

It wasn't anything formal, simply some jeans and a red sweater. She had also put on some dangling earrings and applied some makeup as well.

"You are always beautiful," he said, and his tone was surprisingly gentle.

There was the unmistakable sound of a car pulling into the driveway, and Christine rushed to the window to see Mia's tiny blue car pulling in.

"She's here!" Christine exclaimed gleefully. "Oh, come see, Erik, this is so much fun! Let's get a good look at him before he comes inside."

She felt Erik peering interestedly over her shoulder. Unfortunately, both Mia and her _boyfriend _were so bundled up in heavy coats and hats that it was nearly impossible to get a good look at either one. She knew which was which—Mia was obviously the shorter, skinnier one. Her boyfriend was tall. Christine noticed that he came up next to her to make sure that she didn't slip on any ice.

The front door opened, and Mia's voice came. "Mom? Dad? I'm home!"

Christine offered Erik one last encouraging smile before going to the entrance hall to meet her daughter.

Mia looked vibrant. Her cheeks were red with cold, but her eyes were warm and sparkling. She shrugged off her huge coat and hung it up

"Hey, Mom," Mia said, grinning and hugging Christine. She turned back to the young man who was busily removing his coat as well. "This is William. Will—this is my mom, Christine."

He was tall and slim, with hair as blonde as Mia's was dark. His face was thin, and his nose had the slightest hook, but it all suited him well; he was handsome. William flushed deeply as he held out his hand. "It's a huge honor," he said as Christine accepted the handshake. "I'm a big fan of your work."

"Thank you," Christine said, smiling. She let go and watched as Mia took his coat and hung it up for him. She then took his hand, smiled, and said, "Let's go talk with Daddy."

Christine did not miss the flash of nervousness that passed over the young man's eyes, but he nodded anyway and allowed himself to be led to the front room. Christine wished they would stop holding hands. Erik would be just a little comforted by that fact. She followed them in and heard an excited squeal, meaning that Mia had already flung herself at Erik. Sure enough, when she entered, she found her daughter disentangling from him. And apparently forgetting everything else, Mia immediately began to launch into a conversation, speaking rapidly, talking about new piano concepts and theories she had learned. Erik was replying quickly, interestedly, watching eagerly as she talked.

Smiling a little, Christine stood next to William and folded her arms.

"There's no stopping them once they get together," she said softly.

William glanced down at her. He was taller, but Erik was still tallest—and he probably always would be.

"She worships him," William murmured in agreement. "He's all she talks about. Not that I mind, of course," he added hastily.

Christine nodded and then sighed. "Oh no…"

Mia had rushed over to the piano and sat down. Erik was by her side, watching as she stretched her fingers over the keys, apparently ready for a demonstration. Christine interrupted by clearing her throat loudly and saying, "I'm sorry, Mia, darling, but you seem to have forgotten someone…"

"Oh yeah!" She shot up from the bench, missing the disappointment in Erik's eyes. "Daddy, this is William—Will, this is my father."

Will held out his hand again, betraying no surprise at the gloves or mask. Mia had apparently told him. He said respectfully, "It's an honor to meet you, sir."

_Sir_. Erik was, in the slightest form, mollified for now. He grasped William's hand briefly and then dropped it.

There was an awkward moment, but Christine covered it by saying that enough food had been prepared for twenty people, not four, and they had better start eating it. She shepherded them to the table, Erik taking his usual seat at the head, Christine on his right, Mia on his left. William awkwardly sat down by Mia, glancing around the house.

"Your home is very nice, sir," he said to Erik.

Erik inclined his head slightly. "I should hope so," he said gravely.

Christine resisted rolling her eyes as she put the food on the table. Erik was going to intimidate him and see how well he reacted under pressure. Everyone began except Erik, who was watching Will stonily, staring unabashedly. Will had a constant flush around his neck and tried to ignore it as best he could.

Mia filled the empty space with happy talk.

"We met in our pedagogy class, and we really didn't like each other at first. We were vying for the top spot in the class, actually." She was laughing. "Anyway, we had practice rooms right next to each other, and we'd just pound away, trying to drown each other out. And then we snuck in at night to practice extra hours. One night he brought me hot chocolate, I remember. And after that we were friends." She smiled at him. He managed to smile back. "Then he asked if I wanted to go see a show with him, and I was thinking he was going to take me to some stupid movie or something, but he didn't! It was _Rigoletto_—it wasn't very good, actually—and then we got talking. I told him who you were, Mom, and Will was so excited. He loves your stuff, he saw you in New York a few years ago when you were doing _Don Giovanni_. And so we kept going out and found more and more stuff to talk about."

She ended breathlessly and ate with gusto.

"Anyway, I want you to hear him play, Daddy, he's really good. And then—" she looked excited "—you can play too! Oh, please? Something of yours, of course, maybe your Prelude in A sharp, that one is so beautiful."

Erik simply nodded and recommenced to staring at Will, whose face was cherry red. Christine felt very bad for him but remained silent, instead concentrating on finishing her meal.

When everyone was finished and the plates were put away, Mia dragged them all back to the sitting room and put Will at the piano bench. She then pushed her parents down onto the sofa and snuggled between them, looping an arm with Christine and leaning her head against Erik' shoulder. Will cleared his throat awkwardly and turned to the piano.

"Um—this is a Rachmaninoff piece," he muttered. "I'm not very good at it, I just—"

"Ugh, shut up and play, Will," Mia said contentedly. "I hate it when you insult yourself."

Christine's heart jumped slightly.

Will placed his fingers on the keys, paused for a second, and then began. Christine listened for only a few minutes; he _could _play well—very well. She looked toward Erik and saw, with a little smirk of amusement, that his eyes were just a little wider behind his mask. The man who wasn't impressed by anything—the man better than anyone at nearly anything—was listening quietly to someone other than his daughter play on his beautiful grand piano.

He caught her looking, and she could tell by the way his eyes moved that his eyebrow was cocked, daring her to say something. Christine smiled, put a finger to her lips, and returned her gaze to the performer.

It wasn't a very long piece. Undoubtedly nerves and anxiety refused to let him linger at the piano. He ended it nicely and then stood. Christine and Mia clapped. Erik stared. But Christine knew that Erik simply allowing him to finish his piece was high praise from someone like her masked husband.

"That was great, Will!" Mia said, grinning happily. "Okay, Daddy, your turn. Come sit by me, Will. You're going to fall apart when you hear him."

Erik looked most reluctant to switch seats with the young man, but he stood after Mia pushed him encouragingly. She grabbed Will's arm when he was close and pulled him down beside her, whispering to him excitedly as Erik took a seat and spent a few moments adjusting the bench. Erik waited for silence before beginning.

Both Christine and Mia had heard his Prelude in A sharp before, and they broke into small smiles as he began. A few bars in, Christine stole a glance at Will, who looked as though someone had socked him in the gut. His mouth was wide open, his eyes wide. Christine almost laughed. Having been around Erik's music for so long, she forgot how she first reacted as well, and Will's facial expression pretty much summed it all up. There was complete silence while he played, as usual, his audience drinking in every note, every chord. Christine was relieved that Mia had at least chosen someone who obviously enjoyed music and was talented. Will could appreciate the incredible sounds coming from the piano, could understand what was happening and why.

When the music came to an end, there was a collective half-sigh of disappointment, followed by enthusiastic applause from all three listeners. Erik stood, making no acknowledgement of the praise he was receiving, and looked at Will with an expression that plainly told him to stand up and move. Will did so hastily, and Erik returned to his rightful place beside Mia, who gave him an awkward half-hug and said,

"That was beautiful, Dad! One day I'm going to get you to record something of yours and you'll be more famous than Mom. No offense, Mom," she added hurriedly, looking at Christine.

"None taken," Christine replied. She knew that Erik deserved fame for his genius much more than she deserved hers. She glanced at Erik and yet again resisted rolling her eyes. There was no denying a sort of smug arrogance that sat in his eyes as his daughter fawned over him, her _boyfriend _awkwardly standing to the side and watching silently. Feeling the desire to taunt her husband, Christine rose and said,

"Please take my spot, Will. I think I'm going to bed."

As she walked away, she had that prickling sensation on the back of her neck that told her Erik was scowling at her. She repressed a giggle.

* * *

The small break was passing awkwardly enough. It was clear that Erik was excited to have Mia in the house again but was miffed that he had to share her with William. Whenever Christine was alone with them—which was rare—Will relaxed a great deal more. He seemed very polite and a good match for Mia, who obviously liked him a lot. But whenever Erik was around, he instantly shut down and spent much of the time staring at the floor, silent. Erik liked to shoot random questions at William, asking about his parents, his education, his job, where he had grown up, what he had done in his youth, what his plans were after graduation, where he wanted to be in ten years, and even what his greatest mistake was. Will would mumble out answers to the table or the floor. Sometimes Christine didn't understand, but Erik always did. He would then fall back into silent staring until another question popped up.

The few evenings consisted of musical performances. Mia had finally convinced Christine to sing one evening, though she had no such luck with Erik, who refused flat-out. He was rather grumpy that night, and Christine had to wheedle an answer out of him.

"Thanks for playing with me tonight," she said.

He _hmmphed _grouchily.

"I haven't sung that song in a long time. I think Will and Mia enjoyed it."

"Perhaps too much," he said, rolling over so that his back was to her. Having dealt with this tactic many times, Christine simply sat up and draped herself over him so she could look at his face.

"What do you mean?" she asked. "It was a love song, it was meant to make everyone feel better."

"He's feeling a bit too good if he can do that in front of me."

"What did he do?" Christine asked, completely bewildered.

Erik growled. "I look over and he's practically on top of her—"

She cut him off with a laugh. "Erik, they were holding hands! You really are silly sometimes, you know that? Goodness, heaven forbid if they kiss in front of you!"

He sat up. "Do you really think they've kissed?" he demanded.

Although she wanted to laugh at his naïveté, she sensed danger. "I don't know," she lied. She had seen them kiss a few times when Erik wasn't around. It hadn't been anything serious, though it had definitely suggested affection.

"Little liar," he said shortly. "Tell me."

With a great, dramatic sigh, she sat up beside him. "Of _course _they've kissed—" she ignored the angered noise he made "—because, if you remember correctly, Erik (and you do), he's her boyfriend. Mia is a witty, beautiful, incredibly talented and smart girl. Lots of guys probably want to kiss her."

"They shouldn't," he insisted shortly, lying back down. "I've said it before: she needs to focus on school. She's less than a year away from graduation, and—"

"I know, Erik, I _know_," Christine interrupted. "All right? I know you won't be happy with any guy she chooses to date. But please, for her sake, try not to be so demeaning. William is a great guy! Aren't you glad she's found someone talented? He seems to really care for her. What more could you want? You're just jealous you can't have her all to yourself."

"That's absurd," he said shortly.

"No it's not! I've known you for years. This is exactly like you."

"I am only acting in her best interest."

"So you want her to grow up to be a success, but you want her to be alone?"

He glared at the wall sullenly. "She could come back with us."

Christine sighed and was about to respond when Erik quickly said,

"Khan is supposed to arrive soon."

Feeling suspicious at the sudden change of subject, Christine nevertheless said, "Yes, he called yesterday and said that he doesn't want to fly out. I hope he knows what he's doing. It's been a terrible winter and—Oh no!" She sat up again, looking over at him. "I completely forgot!"

"What?" He sat up as well.

She pressed her palms to her temples worriedly. "I didn't even think about it! I'm so stupid!"

"What is it?" His voice was tight with concern, as if she had just pronounced that she had been stricken with some life-threatening disease.

"We only have the one extra room, and Will is using it. I don't know where we're going to put Nadir. And I promised him he'd never sleep in a hotel when he came out! What should we do?"

Erik fiddled with the sleeve of her nightclothes thoughtfully. "The boy could sleep in the garage," he said, grinning a little in spite of himself. "I am quite sure he wouldn't mind."

She threw a glare at him. "No," she said. "He would freeze. And don't call him that. His name is William."

He looked at her innocently, as if he was unsure what she was talking about. A little agitatedly, she rubbed her forehead and went on, "He'll just have to sleep on the couch for a few nights, that's all."

"Or in the attic."

Christine ignored it. "I'll tell him tomorrow, then. I feel terrible. I didn't even think of the lack of room. And I'll make sure the couch is done up nicely for him."

"Downstairs?" he suddenly asked. "My piano is in that room!"

"Erik, he's not going to steal your piano," Christine said reassuringly. "You'll be all right. And so will all of your things."

Gently, she pushed him onto his back and settled herself beside him. "I hope Mia's birthday turns out well," she said, almost to herself. She then looked up at him. "What are you planning to give her?"

"Something," he said airily, carelessly waving a hand at the ceiling.

"Fine, be that way again," she said, rolling her eyes. "But I _can_ keep secrets. I'm not fifteen."

"Oh, I am quite aware of that, sweetest," he said, rubbing her arm softly. "But you cannot keep anything from Mia. She is very good at getting things out of you."

"She's just like you," Christine said. "It's not fair that you two are both geniuses and I'm just plain Christine."

To her surprise, he chuckled warmly and pressed a kiss to her temple. "Truthfully, I'm not sure I could handle anything more than 'plain Christine.' You are enough for me just as you are."

"Well, I'm glad to know," she grumbled, smiling just the same. She curled up in his arms and allowed herself to drift into a wonderful dreamland.

* * *

Nadir's annual arrivals for Mia's birthday were always the cause of great excitement. Mia always managed to build it up as some grand event, and she would wake extremely early to get herself excited. She still kept it going year after year. Much to her parents' chagrin, she woke them as well.

It was no different when she was an adult. Christine heard her clonking down the stairs to probably eat some cold cereal and muffled a sigh, burying her face into the pillow, willing herself to sleep as long as she could before her daughter burst in to announce the imminent arrival of her favorite uncle.

Christine felt like she had just closed her eyes when a voice was saying,

"Get up, you two! Wake up!"

She moaned and merely rolled over, stubbornly keeping her eyes shut. Maybe if she ignored her, she would go away…Though she doubted that was so, given past experience.

"Come on, it's really late! We're missing out on some prime family bonding time."

Beside her, Erik gave a groan that sounded like, "_Gnnl…_"

"Come on, sleepyheads," Mia called, refusing to relent. "Uncle Nadir's coming today!"

"Go back to bed," Erik commanded, his voice raspy with sleep.

"I can't. I'm up and excited for Uncle Nadir. Besides, it's really late, and you guys always sleep in all morning."

Reluctantly, Christine cracked her eyes open and looked at the bedside clock. It blared out the unholy time of 6:38. Moaning, she closed her eyes once more and wrapped her arms around Erik, murmuring,

"It's not even seven."

"I thought she slept all day," Erik said.

"Not on my favorite morning," Mia responded cheerfully. And she flicked on the light, causing cries of outrage to come from the inhabitants of the bed. Christine sat up and blearily glared at her daughter, who looked supremely unperturbed.

"Okay, I'll give you guys five more minutes," Mia offered. "And I'll make that nasty Russian tea that you like, Daddy, to wake you up." She turned to leave.

"Shut off the light!" Erik barked, but Mia was already gone. With a sigh, Christine flopped back down and closed her eyes.

"Why do we get a daughter that doesn't sleep past noon whenever she can?" she grumbled. "It's your fault, you know…You passed on your weird ability to never sleep."

"I sleep _now_," he said. "Obviously."

They were silent, drifting back to sleep, but Christine knew that their time was scarce. Soon—so soon—Mia would be back and insist they clamber out of bed and watch for Nadir.

Just when Erik's breathing slowed, there came the holler from downstairs.

"Okay, your five minutes are up! Downstairs now!" There was silence, and she suddenly gasped. "Oops! I forgot to wake up Will!" They heard her clatter up the stairs again.

"Should we go?" Christine asked, reaching out to touch him. "She'll just come back upstairs."

He gave a groan of defeat, and Christine clambered out of the warm, soft bed, yawning as she found her dressing gown and pulled it on over her pajamas. She then went over to irritate Erik further, leaning down and kissing his forehead. "Come on," she said. "Remember it's only one day a year."

"It feels like more," he replied grumpily as he reluctantly climbed out of the bed as well. "I don't see why we must make Khan's coming such a big affair."

Christine tended to the bed and managed to smile a little despite the early hour. "You say that every year. She loves Nadir, and she doesn't get to see him very often."

"She should be old enough now to realize that he's not her uncle. He is an insignificant nobody."

"Erik, don't say that!" she said, a little taken aback and angry. "Nadir is a wonderful man. You know that they both need each other. And of course Mia knows that he's not her real uncle. She's not stupid. It's just her term of affection for him."

"Well if he's so _wonderful_, why don't you both go live with him?" Erik snapped irritably. So saying, he turned and marched out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him and ignoring Christine's call for him to come back. Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she retreated to the bathroom to ready herself for the day, trying not to glower and grumble as she did so. Sometimes Erik was simply difficult. She always tried to be patient and understanding with him, but how much longer was it going to take for him to fully understand and trust that she was _not _going to pick up and leave? A thought like that had never crossed her mind, yet sometimes Erik acted as if she was counting the minutes until she could disappear from his life.

She was setting breakfast onto the table when she saw him again, this time dressed neatly and with his mask in place. When he sat down, she placed his Russian tea in front of him (feeling a little guilty that he couldn't drink it), and then she put her hands on her hips.

"Have you finished sulking?" she asked.

"No," he said. He picked up his newspaper, snapped it open, and disappeared behind it. Rolling her eyes yet again, she sat beside him. Not two minutes later, she felt his foot probe hers, and he hooked her feet comfortably between his ankles. She was glad he was behind his newspaper so he couldn't see her grinning at her plate.

Just as Christine was asking him what time he believed Nadir would arrive, she heard Mia's chattering voice, and she entered, Will following and looking a little reluctant, as always, to be in the same room as Erik. Christine saw that a small expression akin to relief passed over his face as he saw that Erik was hidden behind a newspaper.

"Morning!" Mia said brightly, sitting down and pulling things toward her.

"Happy birthday, darling. And haven't you already had breakfast?" Christine smiled a little indulgently and ruined the scold that was barely present in her voice.

"Not really," Mia said, completely unperturbed, piling a plate high for William and then starting on one for herself. "I never count cereal as breakfast. Besides, this is a lot better. And thanks." She slathered an English muffin with peach jam and stuffed it in her mouth.

The three ate in silence (Erik could not eat with Will around, and Christine still felt terrible about it) until Christine remembered and set her teacup down.

"Nadir is coming today," she said.

Mia nodded quickly, looking to Will and saying, "Uncle Nadir is so much fun! I'm so excited for you to meet him. What time is he getting here?"

"I'm not sure," Christine said. "Though I'm going to have to ask—I feel _horrible _about it—I'm going to have to ask Will to sleep on the couch for a few nights so Nadir can have the spare room. He isn't exactly young anymore."

"That's fine," William said. "I don't mind at all."

Mia cocked an eyebrow and grinned playfully. "Will could always stay in _my_ bedroom."

Before anyone could answer, Erik slapped his newspaper shut and smashed his palm onto the table. All of the plates, cups, and utensils rattled dangerously, deafeningly.

"He would sleep outside in the snow before he set foot in your bedroom," he snarled, and Christine was sure that if he had hackles, they would be raised. No doubt his teeth were bared under the mask.

"Sir, I would never think of—" Will began hastily, but Mia interrupted him.

"I was totally joking," she said, calmly picking up another muffin. "And good morning to you, too, Dad."

Erik glared at William suspiciously as if he had made the suggestion. Then he said coldly, "The sofa will serve for a few nights."

"Of course," William stuttered instantly.

Without another word, he snapped his paper straight and disappeared once again. Christine looked at Mia disapprovingly and mouthed, _Don't do that_, before laying what she hoped was a comforting hand on Erik's forearm. She felt him twitch slightly under her fingers, but he did not pull away.

After the meal, Mia had persuaded Christine to play card games for a while. Erik declined at once.

"Not even on my birthday?" Mia whined, jutting out her lower lip.

He went over to the stairs. "I have to finish your present, you selfish thing," he said.

Instantly, she was appeased. "All right, I excuse you," she said, smiling. "It had better be good!"

As soon as Christine heard the door upstairs click shut, she looked at her daughter, frowning a little.

"Why do you do that to him?" Christine asked. "You know how he takes things like that."

"Come on, it was a joke," Mia said, settling herself beside William, who still looked a little harried. "Why does he have to be the pronouncer of doom and gloom? When he lightens up, he's actually really funny, and I'm sick of him being so grumpy all the time."

"You're going about it the wrong way," Christine said. "And I don't think William appreciated it at all."

"He's not a baby, he's fine." She looked over at him. "Right?"

He nodded, staring at the floor, and Christine suddenly wondered if Mia would ever get the chance to marry at all, what with Erik's likelihood of scaring away every boy that came to the house.

She realized that it would do nothing to help Erik's mood that Nadir was coming, since Mia adored Uncle Nadir. Two other men around who cared about Mia were two too many for Erik.

When Nadir arrived, it was mid-afternoon, and Erik hadn't emerged from his study. The introduction between William and Nadir caused the latter to glance at Christine, grinning just a little in knowing acknowledgement of the trials that had passed through the house because of Will's presence.

Mia was effervescent. She spoke excitedly to anyone who would listen and pulled them all into the sitting room. Christine left to finish up with the meal and the cake, which had, thankfully, progressed over the years from ladybugs to a simple white frosting. Christine smiled a little, thinking of red and green icing all over the kitchen. Like it was every year, the cake was small.

When Erik finally emerged, dinner was being cleaned up, and he greeted Nadir with a small, cool nod before sitting down. Mia rushed over to look at what was in his hands.

"Ooh, what is it?" she asked excitedly. Erik's present to her was wrapped plainly, like always, but every year they were the cause of a miracle in Mia's eye. For the hundredth time, Christine wondered what it was Erik had managed to think of.

Throughout the years, Mia had retained her sweet tooth, and so she ate a decent slice of cake and a few scoops of ice cream. However, for everything that she ate, she still took after her father's figure—angular and bony.

But Mia resembled her mother in many ways as well. She had a brighter and more open personality than Erik (nearly all people had a more open personality than Erik), and Mia was unreservedly excited as she picked up a present to unwrap. Christine had given up trying to beat out Erik's gifts, and so she instead bought things that she simply thought Mia would like and need—clothing, cosmetics, shoes, jewelry, and other things that a young woman would appreciate. As she opened one, she let out an unhappy shriek and waved her gift around.

"Really?" she asked. "_Really,_ guys?"

"Oh, I forgot about that," Christine said, grinning. "Do you like it?"

"Of course I don't like it!" She flipped through the book interestedly. "It's mean."

Erik held out his bony hand. "Let me see it."

Grumbling still, Mia stood and slapped the pink book into her father's outstretched hand. Erik looked at it. A young woman—or rather, a cartoon version of one—smiled stupidly from the front of book, her teeth a shocking white and her blonde hair drawn stylishly. He read the title.

_A College Girl's Guide to Dating_

"If anyone needs this, it's you," Erik said, looking through the book. Nadir chuckled.

"That's rude," Mia said. "I'm fine."

"Oh yes?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow probably cocked. "Need I remind you of—?"

Mia didn't let him finish. "Okay, I know some of my previous dates haven't exactly been fairytales, but really, they haven't been that bad." She grinned up at William. "Proof is right here."

Erik _hmmphed _in disagreement and continued to peruse the book. When he was finished, he handed it back to her, and she returned to the presents.

"Well, thanks anyway, Mom," Mia said, grinning.

Christine had settled herself next to Erik, and she smiled and looked up at Erik, who was watching William. Rolling her eyes, she turned her attention back to her daughter, who was busily unwrapping Nadir's present. It turned out to be a first-edition libretto of Mia's favorite opera, and she squealed and jumped up to hug her favorite uncle tightly.

Blushing just a little, William handed over his gift as well, and Mia took it with a smile of affection before unwrapping it. Instantly, Erik tightened. It was a small, black velvet box. Christine instantly put a hand on Erik's arm, as it was obvious that he was frightened and angry that such a thing would be given.

Mia opened it and laughed delightedly. "Aww, thanks!" she said, grinning at William.

"What is it?" Christine asked, for Erik's sake. He was practically rising up out of his seat, ready to attack in case Mia pulled out a diamond ring.

"A watch," Mia said, lifting it out to show. Erik relaxed immediately, and Christine thought it was safe to take her hand off of him. "I can never find silver watches to fit. They're always too big and they fall off, and the only other option is those ugly leather ones. Will knows how much I needed one. Thanks."

"No problem," William said. "Maybe you could get to class on time now."

She grinned sheepishly. "I always lose track of time when I'm practicing. So this should help." She slipped it on and then looked at Erik excitedly.

Wordlessly, he handed her his gift. It was small, very thin, and square, and Mia grinned at him before opening it. When she saw what it was, her jaw dropped, and she stared at it, amazed. Will looked on in confusion, but when Christine saw the CD in Mia's hand, her heart quickened. Even Nadir was silent, understanding the significance of such a gift.

"Is this…?" Mia breathed. "Are these your…?"

Erik nodded.

Mia attempted to smile, but apparently her emotions couldn't be displayed by an upward curving of her lips. She dragged her eyes from the CD to her father, who was watching her quietly, his arms comfortably folded across his chest.

"You mean…piano…organ…violin…?" He nodded after each one. "Voice?" she added hopefully. Again, a nod.

"All for you, sweetest," he said softly. "Only for you."

Quite suddenly, Mia burst into tears. Erik's neutral expression turned to bewilderment.

"What is it?" he asked urgently, leaning forward. "Did I miss something? Did I forget anything?"

She shook her head frantically. "No," she gulped, clutching the CD between shaking fingers. "It's just—this is the best—present—I've ever gotten!" She jumped up and ran over to embrace him. "Thank you so much, Daddy," she sobbed. She continued to wail into his shoulder, alternately hugging him and her present. It was a good thing Mia had opened his present last, like always, because it was quickly becoming apparent that Mia was not going to leave his side. He had trumped them all for twenty-one years in a row.

Christine smiled at the pair and then went to serve Nadir some sweet tea, which she knew he liked to have before he went to bed. She asked William if he wanted anything, but he quickly shook his head.

For a while there was a contented quietness in the room as all settled themselves. Mia had curled up beside her father, and they were both examining the libretto that Nadir had given to Mia. They spoke softly, pointing out various things, obviously happy to wrap themselves up in a dreamland of music.

Christine spoke with Nadir, who commented idly that there was a great possibility of him moving.

"Where are you going?" Christine asked in some alarm.

"Oh, who knows," Nadir said idly. "It's time for a change, but I haven't made a firm decision yet. There are even some spots in this town that I've been looking at."

Christine hid a small smile behind the rim of her cup. It was apparent that loneliness had finally gotten to him in his old age, and he was looking to spend some time with the closest thing to family that he had. Not that Christine minded. She was overjoyed. She simply couldn't wait to see Erik's expression when he discovered that his closest friend and biggest annoyance would be living minutes away.

Nadir talked to William for a while, asking him general questions and the like, but soon he was announcing his plans to retire for the evening. He wished Mia a last happy birthday and then slowly climbed the stairs. Christine stood to clean up the table, and William immediately offered help.

"No, it's fine. I can manage," Christine said, heading to the kitchen. Will followed regardless.

"No, please, let me help," he said. "My mom would slap me senseless if she knew I had made the famous Christine Vautour do the dishes by herself." He laughed, and Christine smiled.

"Does your mother like opera as well?" she asked.

He shrugged a little. "She loves music," he said. "She plays the piano—not very well, but still—and I took her to New York for her birthday one year. That's when we saw your production of _Don Giovanni. _We both became opera enthusiasts. She was so jealous when I told her I was coming to stay with you for a weekend."

Christine laughed, feeling flattered, like always, when someone praised her. She wasn't sure she would ever become used to her fans telling her how wonderful she was.

"She's welcome to stop by any time," Christine said. "I'm sure she's a wonderful woman."

"She is," Will said. "But she's always asking why you haven't recorded anything."

Christine shrugged a little. Nearly every letter she received begged her to put out a recording of something, but somehow, the idea had never attracted her. Erik had never mentioned it, either, and so it had only been live performances.

"I simply haven't gotten around to it," she said. "But if I do, I will be sure to send her the first copy."

"Thanks," Will said, grinning. "She would love it."

"What about your father?" Christine asked conversationally, throwing away the rest of the cake. "What is he like?"

William was quiet for a few moments. "I'm not sure," he said softly. "He left when I was four."

The simple, honest, blunt confession somehow made Christine want to cry. And she felt stupid for forgetting what other families went through. She suddenly realized she had been so wrapped up in her world of Erik and Mia and music that she had somehow failed to even realize that other families had problems as well, and those problems made her troubles with Erik seem trivial.

"I'm so sorry," Christine said.

Will shrugged brusquely. "It's not a big deal," he said. "It happens all the time. I barely remember him."

They finished in silence, Christine unsure of what to say to him. He quickly saw through it.

"You don't have to treat me like a deathbed patient," he said, managing to smile. "It really is fine."

"I'm sorry," she apologized quickly, embarrassed.

"And you don't have to keep apologizing," he said, genuine laughter in his voice.

"Oh, I'm sor—" she began, but then she caught herself and laughed as well.

"Mia was right about you," William said, still chuckling. "You're too nice for your own good. How is it you've survived as a world-famous singer?"

"Honestly, I have no idea," Christine confessed.

"It makes me wonder where Mia got such a bad temper," Will said.

"_I _know where she got it," Christine said. Then her smile faded as she remembered just what kind of strained association Will and Erik had. Will was quiet for a minute before clearing his throat and saying quietly, respectfully,

"Mrs. Vautour, I think you—"

"Please, call me Christine," she interrupted.

He acted as if he hadn't heard her. "I think you should know that I care about your daughter very, very much," he said. "I would never hurt her."

"I know," Christine said. She led the way back to the front room, which was silent. Quietly, she smiled over at Erik, who was still absorbed in the libretto. Mia had fallen asleep on his shoulder, clutching her present protectively. Christine immediately thought of purple tutus.

She walked over and lightly touched Erik's shoulder, and he looked up at her.

"It's late," she said softly. She looked at Mia. "Do you think we should leave her here or…?"

"I'll take her," he said, setting aside the libretto. As if she was still a little girl, he gathered her thin, angular frame into his long arms and carried her upstairs.

Christine sighed lightly and looked at William, almost pityingly. "If you care for her as much as you say, I'm going to tell you right now that it's not going to be easy. You're up against someone who is in no way ready to let her go. He isn't going to make it easy for you."

"I know," William said, looking at the hallway behind which Mia had disappeared. "Looks like I've got some stiff competition." He looked back at Christine and smiled just a little. "But it's all right. Getting her is half the fun."

"Trust me," Christine said, turning to follow her family up the stairs, "he will _not _let you have fun. You have no idea who you're up against."


	10. Chapter 10

**Ugh. Now we see why I don't do two stories at once! :) Sorry for the wait, but hopefully this final chapter is worth it. I really hope you guys enjoyed this story. I had a blast writing it. Thank you **_**so **_**much to all who reviewed. I know I don't say it as often as I should, but I really do appreciate the feedback. A special thanks to those who reviewed every chapter. Feel free to PM with any questions or thoughts, and please leave a review letting me know what you think! **

**Thanks again so much for everything.**

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* * *

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The hour was late, and Erik and Christine were just returning from her last tour of Europe. It had been a very long past few weeks, and they both groaned with gratitude as they walked inside their dark, chilly, slightly-musty home.

They spent a few minutes dragging in luggage and then hauled it upstairs.

"You're never leaving this house again," Erik growled, flicking on the lights. He peeled off his realistic mask and rubbed his bare face.

Christine sighed and flopped back onto the bed. "I'm old," she complained wearily. "I hate it."

"You aren't," he assured her. "I am." He began unpacking, and she watched him for a while before giving an irritable huff and rising to help. They worked in silence for a while until Christine's cell phone made them jump.

"Who is calling at this time of night?" she said. She picked up her phone and answered it. "Hello?"

"_Hey, Mom!"_

"Mia, why are you calling me in the middle of the night? We just got home two minutes ago."

"_Good! That's why I was calling. I was just making sure you guys were home, because Will and I are coming tomorrow."_

Christine racked her jet-lagged brain. "Tomorrow? Tomorrow is..."

"_The last day of fall semester, Mom...Seriously. We'll be there around three, okay?"_

"All right, darling." Christine yawned. "Would you like to speak with your father?" She turned around and saw Erik on the bed, asleep, fully-clothed.

"_It's late, I know, so I won't keep you two old people up anymore."_

"We're very grateful, I'm sure," Christine said dryly, smiling.

"_See you tomorrow."_

Christine said her farewell, put her phone down, and climbed into the bed, still dressed in her day-things, just like Erik. She curled up next to him, grasped his hand, and was asleep instantly.

They both slept very late into the day. When Christine woke, she rolled over and groggily peered at the clock on her bedside table before groaning into her pillow. It was already past noon, and sunlight was pouring into the bedroom, which was free of the clutter of luggage from last night.

She readied herself and found Erik downstairs, nodding over a book.

"Mia and Will are coming today," she said. "For their break."

He stopped dozing and looked at her instantly.

"Why?" he asked suspiciously. "Why is _he _coming?" Erik didn't like speaking Will's name.

"I don't know," Christine said comfortably, curling up on the couch with eight weeks' worth of mail. "Mia just called last night and said they would be here around three."

Erik _hmmphed _and replied, "I don't see why she needs to bring him over here. They barely know each other."

"Love, they've been together for a year," Christine said offhandedly, slitting open a bill and looking at it. "Remember? Last summer he even went with her to see me in Sydney. I'd say they know each other very well."

"Let's hope not _too_ well," Erik muttered darkly, looking back at his book with a furrowed brow.

They sat in companionable silence until 2:30, at which time Erik began to become anxious again and Christine left to fix something for everyone.

"Erik?" she called from the kitchen. "Do you want to eat anything before they get here?"

He didn't answer, and she sighed and went to the front room to find he was staring out of the window, his eyes scanning the road for Mia's car.

"Erik," she repeated. "Do you want anything before they get here?"

"No," he snapped irritably. "Leave me alone."

"Fine, you grouchy old man," she retorted. "I was just trying to be nice." She went back to the kitchen.

They arrived a few minutes before three, and there was the usual exchange of hugs and handshakes and greetings, some awkward, some not.

When they were all settled in the front room, Christine finally said, "So, what's been going on?"

"Oh, nothing really," Mia said vaguely. "I just missed you guys and couldn't wait to come see you. Will's family is out of town for the beginning of the break, so I dragged him along for a few days." She squeezed his arm and smiled at him. Will quickly expressed his gratitude for them for opening up their home to him yet again.

They spoke for a while longer, mostly discussing Christine's recent tour and talking about her future plans for performance. Erik leaned back in his chair and took up his favorite pastime—glaring at Will. Will had gotten quite good at ignoring it; he didn't even blush.

Around four, Christine was just suggesting that she finish up and serve the early dinner for them all. Mia instead shot up out of her chair and said,

"Actually, Mom, I want to show you something upstairs."

"Oh—all right." Christine rose, and Erik made every motion of rising as well until Mia said,

"You can stay here, Daddy. It's _girl stuff_. Just stay and talk to Will for a while." And before she led the way upstairs, she whispered quickly into Will's ear. Giving her father one last smile, she dragged Christine out and up into her bedroom, shutting the door quickly.

"What is it?" Christine asked, looking around. "I don't see anything."

Giggling, Mia put a hand in her pocket and took something out.

Something small and shiny.

Something she slipped onto her finger.

Something she slipped onto the fourth finger of her left hand.

Christine stared at it and then took a heavy seat on Mia's bed.

"You—" Christine managed to choke out.

Mia sat down next to her mother and waggled her fingers. It was a small and pretty diamond, nestled in between two other small ones. The ring was in good taste, obviously not extravagantly expensive, but not the cheapest one in the shop.

"He proposed last week," Mia whispered excitedly, looping her arm through Christine's. "It was so romantic, Mom! We went out to the symphony and then to dinner, and then he took me to this beautiful moonlit lake. I was freezing, but it looked so gorgeous. And before I could even say anything, he was down on one knee!" She sighed girlishly and gazed dreamily at her ring. "But it's not completely official," she suddenly snapped, sitting up a little straighter. "I said yes, but only if he talks to Daddy first. Will was really, really nervous about that, but I knew that Dad would never allow it unless he thought Will asked him first."

Mia hadn't lived with Erik for eighteen years and learned nothing. She had more insight into his character than anyone—except, perhaps, Christine.

"That's good you thought of that," Christine murmured, her head spinning.

"You won't tell him, will you?" Mia asked anxiously, looking at her mother. "I know you can't lie to him, but just…sort of never bring it up, all right? Don't ask, don't tell sort of thing."

"Of course," Christine agreed blankly. There was silence. "Is that why you dragged me up here?"

"Yeah," Mia said, frowning a little and glancing at the door. "Will and I planned this out. I even gave him pointers on what he should say when talking to Dad. We decided to do it as soon as we got here, because I know that we couldn't keep it a secret more than a few days. I hope things go all right. I gave Will a pep talk the entire way here. Poor guy," she added sympathetically. "Dad's not exactly an easy person to deal with. He takes over-protective to a whole new level."

Christine nodded in agreement. They were both silent for a minute, as if trying to hear what the men downstairs were saying. But it was silent except for the occasional creak of the mattress springs.

"You do think…" Mia began uncertainly. She bit her lip in worry and stared at the door. "Dad _will _be okay, won't he? I mean, he probably isn't going to be happy, but he can't say no…Right?" She looked to her mother for desperate reassurance.

Christine gazed at the door as well and said, "I don't know what he's going to do, sweetie. He just hates change—you know how much he does. He wants you to stay here and be his little princess forever."

"I know." Mia sighed and drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her thin arms around her legs. "And I would probably be happy with that, but…I love William. I really do." She forced a laugh. "I told William that if Dad throws him out of the house, he doesn't have to come back for me. I don't know, Mom…Am I even worth having to go through Dad?"

"Of course you are!" Christine said instantly, indignantly.

"You have to say that because you're my mom," Mia replied drearily. "And I'm not just talking about this. Will would be marrying into the family. I'd make him come here for holidays and stuff. Years and years of having Dad just stare at him. I dunno. Maybe I should have talked to Will about this first." She buried her face in her bony knees.

"You shouldn't have to," Christine said firmly. "If he loves you, he'll do this for you."

"Not everyone is like you and Dad," Mia said, peeking at Christine with shining eyes. "Sometimes you guys make me sick. In his eyes, you're perfection personified. I know that William loves me, but sometimes I just wish…I wish that it was a dumb romance-novel romance like you and Dad have."

"A 'romance-novel romance'?" Christine repeated, stifling a laugh.

"Ugh, definitely," Mia moaned. "A disfigured musical genius…a beautiful young singer…A most unlikely love. You could probably sell movie rights. Will and me—we just met in a college class, dated, and got engaged. But I'm so stupid…You and Dad turned me into a dumb romantic."

"Darling," Christine crooned, reaching for her. Mia made an irritated noise in her throat and tried to pull away. "You're tired, you're worried, and you're stressed," Christine said, shifting closer and wrapping her arms around her only child, like she always used to do. "Everyone has their own story, and you should be proud and happy with yours. I…I never told anyone this—especially not you, you were always too young, but…Well, your father and I didn't start out all right."

"What do you mean?" Mia sniffled.

Christine heaved a sigh. "It's a long story. But I was very, very young. I was younger than you are now. And Erik—your father, I mean—was…oh, he was terrifying to me at first. You've known him your entire life, so you can't fully comprehend what it's like to grow to know him without any sort of background. I was so afraid. My father had died, and I didn't really want to sing anymore, but Erik sort of forced me back into it. I was really very scared, because, as you know, he had a terrible temper and was a great deal older than I was. He was also very jealous because I was seeing Raoul, and…Well, you know how he gets. He tried everything to scare Raoul away, and all the while he was becoming very possessive and controlling of _me."_

"He's _always _been possessive and controlling of you, Mom," Mia muttered.

Christine rolled her eyes. "I know," she said. "But he was ten times worse while—um, _pursuing _me. He was my voice teacher at the time, too, and he started telling me who I could and couldn't see, where I could and couldn't go, trying to really just ostracize me from everyone and everything but himself. Raoul was such a good man, he kept trying to get me away. You met him once, do you remember? He proposed to me, and I accepted, and your father was furious."

"This is making me feel awful!" Mia snapped. "You had two amazing men fight over you!"

"I'm not trying to make it sound that way!" Christine said hurriedly. "You can't see your father in anything but a good light. I'm trying to tell you that he was actually a terrible man—jealous, controlling, hateful, bitter. He had a horrible past, and it really messed him up."

"Then why did you marry him?" Mia shot. "If he was so _terrible_…"

"Because I love him," Christine said simply. "Despite all the awful things he is, he is a wonderful, wonderful man. He may be a giant pain sometimes, and we've had our fair share of experiences with that, but I know he loves me deeply, and I really do love him."

Mia stared at the floor for a while, absorbing it all in. She then sighed in a disgusted way and said, "I was wrong. You guys could _definitely _sell movie rights." She gave a weak smile and rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm being silly, I know. I love William, and I know he loves me. Things are going to be okay."

"Of course," Christine said. She asked hesitantly, "But why…so soon? You two have only been dating for a few months."

"By a few months, you mean more than twelve," Mia said, raising a jetty eyebrow. "Besides, we're both graduating at the end of next semester. Will's been accepted to the Manhattan School of Music, and he wants me to go with him."

"Manhattan?" Christine repeated, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.

"I know," Mia said instantly. "It's really far away from you guys. I'm sad, too, but…Come on. I'm going to get married soon. I can't spend my entire life here. I need to be with Will and support him. And we have e-mail and telephones and everything now, so it won't be too bad. You two will adjust, I know it. Besides, I have a perfect plan. After we graduate this May, we'll take the summer and get married and go on a honeymoon. Then we'll spend the rest of the time looking at Manhattan apartments and things like that. Isn't it great?"

"It is. But what about you? Don't you want to go to graduate school?"

Mia shrugged. "I'm really okay for now. I think I'll go back in a few years, but I need a break. Will has amazing stamina, he works like a horse. I'll see if I can't audition at a few places in Manhattan and just be there for Will. It'll kill me when he comes home knowing more than I do—" she gave a great sigh "—but I'll make him teach me everything. And then I'll apply after a few years."

"I'll see if I can't pull some strings in Manhattan," Christine offered. "I know a few directors."

"I know you do." Mia grinned. "I have amazing parents."

"The best," Christine agreed teasingly. "So have you decided on a date yet?"

"I'm thinking a few weeks after graduation," Mia responded, and they immediately began to gush on wedding plans, giggling together excitedly.

* * *

Will sat and stared at the wall. The clock's _tick tock _echoed annoyingly, infuriatingly around the room. _He _was just sitting there, staring at him, looking comfortable and suspicious at the same time. How in the world did he do that?

What sort of person just _stares_?

And what sort of person wears a mask?

Will had asked Mia about him one spring night. He had suggested that they get an apartment together for the summer, but Mia blanched and refused point blank.

"Why not?" he asked, somewhat sullenly.

"It could never, ever happen," Mia said simply. "My dad would never allow it in a million years."

"But you're twenty-one years old," Will said. "You're not a kid anymore. You can make your own decisions. Doesn't your dad realize this?"

"Nope," Mia said simply. She was reading a textbook, studying for finals, her skinny legs thrown over the arm of her chair. Will sometimes worried about how skinny Mia really was, and it was especially strange because she ate candy and chocolate like nobody's business. But Mia was still a stick, with bony arms and fingers, pencil-like legs, and a stomach that went in more than it went out. She was skinny to the point that it was almost unattractive. When Will told Mia that maybe she should see a doctor about it, she had actually laughed and said,

"My mom hates it too. I had a million doctor visits when I was little to see if I had some sort of freak disease or something, but I'm actually really healthy. Blame it all on my dad. He's the exact same way."

Will watched her read for a few more minutes. "Doesn't it bother you?" he asked quietly.

She didn't look up as she said, "Does what bother me?"

"That your dad controls your life this much that you won't even consider being with me?"

She put her book down, frowning a little.

"Okay, let me ask you this," she said. She swung her legs over the arm and set them on the floor. "You met my dad last December, for my birthday. What did you think of him?"

"He was…" Will faltered. Mia smiled just a little—and he didn't really like how she smiled.

"Go ahead. Say whatever you want. I've heard it all."

"He was…unusual."

Her horrible smile widened a little. "That's putting it nicely," she said. "Be specific."

"Okay…He was an incredible piano player. Seriously, I have no idea why—"

"Nope, we're not talking about that," Mia interrupted shortly. "You're talking about his personality and habits, not what kind of musician he is."

Will resisted making a face at her. She was making it hard on purpose.

"Fine," he said shortly. "Do you really want the truth?"

"Of course I do," she said calmly. "I never want anything but."

"Okay, fine, here it goes." He took a deep breath and plunged: "He was strange. He stared at me the entire time, and I hated it. He was really rude to me. I hated the questions he asked me, and he always looked at me like I was something disgusting. He was demeaning. He made me feel humiliated all the time. I hated being around him because I didn't want to embarrass myself." Then he stopped and bit his lip. He was afraid he had said too much.

Mia, however, sighed and put her legs back up over the arm of the chair.

"Okay, I'm going to ask you something else," she said. "Do you like being my boyfriend?"

"Yes," he said instantly.

"I am totally not joking," she said, staring at him again, her dark eyes intense. "If you like me, that's great, because I like you. But if you don't like me enough to put up with this kind of stuff, then we need to end this, because I hate wasting my time. I have lots of things to do, and if this is going to keep being a problem between us, then I need to know. You'll just never understand my dad, Will. You just have to accept that I grew up as a 'Daddy's Little Princess' type girl, and I still am. I love my dad more than I can even describe. And I am going to do what he wants, because whenever I've done that things have turned out great for me. Whenever I've done the opposite, things turn out bad. I know without a doubt that he would say no to us moving in together. And so I'm not even going to ask." There was a pause. "I like you a lot. My dad is never going to be happy with any guy I date, so just know it's nothing personal against you. I could try to persuade him to let me stay here for a summer semester so I could be closer to you, but I would never, ever move in with you unless we got married." She laughed a little. "And _that _would be a disaster!"

Well, that was exactly what Will was doing, sitting in Mia's front room on a snowy December afternoon, staring at the wall with terror. He had assured Mia that night that he still wanted to be her boyfriend. And then he had ended up proposing seven months later because he loved her and wanted to marry her.

But Will knew that Mia's father didn't want her marrying _anybody_. The day after Will proposed, Mia had taken him to a nice little café and talked to him, very seriously, about how tricky it was going to be.

"He's going to freak out," Mia said calmly, drinking some tea. The ring sparkled on her bony left finger, looking ridiculous and huge. Will had tried to choose a smaller one so it wouldn't overwhelm Mia's hand, and the ring had looked nice in the store, but on her finger it just seemed too big. The next smallest choice would have been a fleck of diamond in a gold band. And that one had been really ugly, even to him.

"How are you going to tell him?" Will asked nervously.

"Oh, I'm not going to," Mia said. "You're going to ask him."

"What—ask?" Will spluttered. "Like—like they did back in the 1800s? Like, _ask _him if I can marry you?"

"Yup," Mia said. "He's not going to let you marry me if _he _thinks _you _think you can just come into his life and take me away without his permission."

Will tried to wrap his brain around her statement. It made his head hurt, so he stopped.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a daunting task it would be. He couldn't just go into Mia's home and said, "Sir, may I marry your daughter?" How in the world would it be done?

"I've got some kind of plan," Mia said, when he asked her. "Come home with me again for the break. An unexpected visit is going to make him suspicious."

"Okay," Will said, a little nervous already. "And…and just wait for the right moment."

"No, you need to tell him as soon as we get there," Mia said confidently. "If we keep it a secret, he'll know something's up. Then he'll find me and worm the answer out of me. He's good at that. He'll just wheedle away until the answer sort of slips out of you without you even realizing it."

Will felt himself blanch, and he stared at the food on his plate. It looked disgusting.

"I'll get my mom away from you two and tell her while you ask him. Good plan, right?"

"Wait, why can't you be there?" Will asked desperately.

"Because I won't be able to look at him," Mia said. She drank some more tea. "If I'm there, he'll give me this heartbroken, disappointed look that will say something like, _What are you doing? Why are you betraying me like this? What have I done to make you want to leave me? _And so on and so on. I've seen it before. Then I'll probably feel so bad about it that I'll laugh and pretend it was all a joke. Nope. You're flying solo. Safer for everyone."

_Except me_, Will thought bitterly.

"Except you," Mia said thoughtfully, and Will blinked at the echo. Then she put down her cup. "Look, I know this is a lot to ask. Sorry you had to propose to the one girl with the weirdest father alive. If you don't want to go through with it, I understand. If you want the ring back, I'll—I'll give it to you. I just want you to know what you'll be getting into if you go through with this."

"No!" Will reached over and held her hand gently. "I love you so much, Mia. I want to marry you. I want you to come to Manhattan with me next year. I want you to be my wife. I'll do whatever it takes."

Mia grinned a little. "You sound like my dad. But thanks, Will." Her grin softened. "I love you too."

And Will tried to keep that thought in his head as the _tick tock _of the clock kept going. _I love you too. I love you too. I love you too. _Mia's voice in his head, whispering, giving him strength. That's what he needed. Because when he stole a glance at the masked man in the chair, he felt his insides freeze with dread. What would he do when he heard the news? Shout? Throw him out of the house? Force Mia to live with him forever? Would he get violent?

Somehow, it seemed that it was completely possible for him to do all of those things.

He needed to speak. The silence was going to drive him mad. And if he didn't start soon, he was going to lose his courage and it would never come.

"Thank you again for letting me stay here, sir," Will blurted.

The masked man's thin fingers were intertwined casually over his chest as he stared. One long leg was crossed comfortably over the other. He was the epitome of calm, of cool—but his eyes gave him away. They regarded Will as something of a thief, an invader, a person unwelcome.

Will thought furiously about how to gently ease into the subject that was lingering over him. He tried to remember what Mia had said on the way here.

"Tell him that you're moving to Manhattan next year," Mia had said. "He'll be interested in the program. Then just tell him that you want me to move with you. Then he'll be really surprised and angry, but don't let him say anything. Just ask the question. Tell him that you love me, and ask."

"I'm moving to Manhattan," Will finally said quickly, loudly. "Next year. For graduate school. For music."

Mia's father looked a little excited. "You're moving away next year," he repeated, his voice sending chills up Will's spine. It had an ethereal beauty to it that was almost disconcerting to Will.

He nodded. "Yeah, I've been accepted into the Manhattan School of Music."

"Ah," the masked man replied. "Mia is looking into studying abroad for a year or so. I have looked into the Royal College of Music, in London. She should be attending there next year."

Will panicked. Mia's father wasn't doing what Mia said he would do. He didn't seem at all interested in where Will went to study, only where Mia was going to go. Then understanding hit Will: the masked man was glad that Will was moving away, because it meant that Mia wasn't going to go with him. And the masked man was also telling Will about his future plans for Mia to reiterate the fact that their relationship couldn't continue. He looked down at the floor, trying not to betray the panic. It was the most terrifying thing he had ever done. He tried to remember a time when he was more scared than asking Mia's father for her hand…but he couldn't remember a time when the gut-sliding fear had been more real.

The clock ticked away more time—time that should have been spent frankly telling the masked man that he was in love with his daughter and that he wanted to marry her.

Perspiration began to line his forehead as he unclenched his jaw and said jerkily, "Sir—sir, I would like Mia to—move to Manhattan as well."

There was a deep moment of silence, and then the masked man replied, quite calmly in fact,

"No, I'm afraid it's not possible. She will be attending school in London. And it isn't up to you to decide where she goes to school. It is up to me."

Though his tone was calm, there was a definite challenge in there, as if he was waiting to see what Will would reply with. And he could only say stupidly,

"I—well, I understand, sir. But—"

"There are no 'buts' in this matter, young man," the masked man interrupted smoothly. "She will go to London, and you will go to Manhattan. It is decided."

"Sir," Will began, hastily, panicky, "I want Mia to move to Manhattan with me because I love her."

The silence that followed was unbearable. The masked man uncrossed his legs, as if he was ready to pounce on Will. Will stared at the floor, his hands clenched on his knees, feeling terrified.

"That is obvious," the masked man said, his voice a low hiss. "But it changes nothing."

"Sir, I want to marry her." He was feeling reckless, as if he had nothing at all to lose. But he did, and he felt stupid as soon as the sentence came out.

There was no longer an easiness about the masked man's position. He was tense and alert, his eyes burning, his entire frame taut with tension.

"I'm sure you do," the masked man said. His voice made the hairs on the nape of Will's neck stand on end. "However, she has her heart set on London. You cannot begin a marriage by being on different continents. It will not work."

Will blurted out, "I've already asked her, and she said yes. She said she would come to Manhattan with me."

It was a moment so pivotal that Will knew he would remember it for the rest of his life: the terrible, weighting silence in the room crushing him, smothering him.

"You dared to ask her without my permission?" the masked man finally said. It was obvious he did not want to be angry with Mia—like he _couldn't _be angry with her.

"I'm asking it now," Will said, feeling strengthened by the blow he had dealt to his enemy (he felt a little guilty about thinking that way, but it was true: Mia's father was opposed to what he wanted). "I'm asking it out of respect for _her _wishes. Believe me, I would have never thought it necessary, except two hundred years ago."

"Oh, I believe you," Mia's father replied coldly. "I also believe you are a young, foolish, naïve upstart who thinks he's a great deal wiser than he actually is. I believe my daughter is too young to marry, and I believe that you are a fool if you think you can address me such in my own home."

"I have nothing but the greatest respect for you, sir," Will said, though the last word came out with some reluctance. "But _I _believe that Mia has the right to speak for herself—and she's already done so. She said yes to me."

"She would never go through with marriage without my permission," he snapped in reply.

"I know," Will admitted grudgingly. "Which is why I'm asking for it now."

"And what if I don't give it?"

"Then _you_ can tell Mia that you want her to be unhappy," Will said. He was feeling angry and frustrated, and he just wanted to get out of that house—with Mia, preferably—and go for a long drive. "She's said yes to me already. She's told me that she loves me, and I love her. I'm going to marry her." His mouth turned dry after that. Where had the words come from? How could he have said that so boldly?

The masked man observed him quietly. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his leg again, though it was stiff and forced, as if he was restraining himself from jumping up and throwing him out. Which he probably was, Will thought. Finally, he spoke,

"Would you like to see my face?"

Will blinked. The question was so unexpected that he could only stare and gape. He had been expecting another quiet shouting match about Mia. And then her father had to go off and offer to let Will look at his face…which he had always wanted to do. But he had to be polite. So he shook his head against his own wishes. The masked man laughed softly, and it wasn't a very nice sound.

"Come now, everyone wishes to see my face," he said, his voice slithering from behind the mask. "I knew it from the second you saw me. You want to see what I'm hiding."

"I'm all right," he said. "Sir," he added grudgingly. But then he couldn't help the excited pounding of his heart when he saw the masked man's hands rise up to pull it off.

At the last second possible, he took his hands away and put them back on the arms of the chair. Will felt disappointment course through him. Mia had only said that her father's face was a personal matter, and Will had better not bring it up again if he knew what was good for him.

"Perhaps not," the masked man said silkily. "But I should have you know that it's quite a sight. Oh yes, it made me quite the novelty some years ago in the Middle East. Now sit still while I tell you this."

It wasn't as if Will was moving. He was stiff as a board, staring at the man across from him with fixed horror and fascination and hatred and grudging respect and—a multitude of emotions that were juxtaposed in a paradoxical manner.

"It was before I was married—before I even knew my wife," Mia's father said, staring straight at Will. "Nadir calls them the 'rosy hours,' which shows that he still has some sense of dry, cynical humor, for they were anything but. I was very high up in the government. No official position, mind you, but very influential nonetheless. I had the ears of some of the most powerful men around, and I used my sway well. But you sit there and ask yourself, _How did such a man become so powerful when all he can do is play the piano and wear a mask?_ Shall I tell you? Would you like to know?"

_Say no_, Will's mind whispered desperately. _You don't want to hear this…you don't want to hear this…you definitely don't want to._

"Sure," he said.

His inner voice groaned in disappointment. There was a gleam in the masked man's eyes.

"If you insist," he said. "Whispers about me around the political system came, and I was sought out and offered…employment, I suppose is the best word, even though it isn't correct."

"And I'm guessing they didn't record your _employment_," Will said before he could stop himself.

The gleam brightened. "No, they did not," the masked man said composedly. "I was assigned a number of things—architecture, political advisor, glorified body guard…It built all of this." He gestured to his house, as if he didn't care in the slightest that it was paid for with under-the-table money. "But it still wasn't enough. I was earning the same rates as a common man! I was exactly the same as Mr. John Doe in New York City with his corporate job and ugly leather briefcase. And I was doing so much more than Mr. John Doe. I was keeping top political secrets, secrets that could ruin empires, monopolies. It was a delicate situation. I survived a number of assassination attempts."

_Too bad_, Will thought viciously. Then he felt ashamed of himself.

"And so I offered them one more service." His voice, a whisper, still reached Will's half-reluctant, all-the-way-willing ears. There was a silence. Will felt sick.

"Would you like to guess?" the masked man said.

Will shook his head. "Not this time." His voice sounded weak, pitiful.

The replying chuckle was low and ominous. "I thought not. But this service would nearly double my salary and protect myself from those idiots who thought they could kill me—_me._" He observed Will for a moment and said, "I'm not even going to tell you what it was. Use that pitiful thing you think is your imagination. Imagine all you want. By all means, tell Mia. She will never believe you. Tell the police, if you so wish. It was years ago in a different country with different rules, and I assure you that I had the endorsement of everyone around. There's nothing to be done for it. The rosy hours are over and will not be relived, not so long as I have what I do." He tapped his fingers on the armrest for a moment. "But now you're wondering why in the world I'm telling you this. The answer is simple, though. And I'm not going to let you guess, because I want it to be perfectly clear."

A dreadful feeling of doom crushed Will's chest. He was finding it hard to breathe, and he stared at the masked man for the first time in his life—he was paralyzed with terror.

"If you dare hurt my daughter," he whispered, "I shall come to you, and what I will do to you will make the rosy hours seem like a children's bedtime fairytale. Even _I_ won't have the cynicism in me to call them 'rosy hours.' And no one will ever know, either…No one will know what happened to you. I can assure you that I won't trouble myself to tell anyone." He stood up. "Believe _that_, young man." And he walked out of the room.

* * *

Christine and Mia had continued whispering until a door slammed shut, cutting them off abruptly.

"Oh my…" Christine said, standing and peeking out of Mia's room. "Come on. Let's go see what's happened."

Christine's nerves were twisting, and she thought vaguely that Mia must be positively distraught if _she _was extremely anxious. They stepped into the front room. William was still sitting on the sofa (unhurt, Christine noted with relief, though he did look very pale) and staring at the floor. Mia instantly rushed to him, flinging her arms around his shoulders.

"What did he say?" she demanded breathlessly. "Will?"

"He—um…" William cleared his throat and tried again. "He said it was okay."

"Really? Yay! I'm so excited!" Mia bounced up and down on the sofa, kissing Will's cheek happily. When she finally noticed that he wasn't joining her in the celebrations, she stopped. "Will?" she said again. "Is everything okay? What happened?"

He shook his head wordlessly. Christine watched for only a minute more before going back upstairs and instantly spotting the loud door that had interrupted them minutes ago. She knocked quietly and entered.

Erik was a most peculiar man. He handled things that bothered him in many different ways. When events happened that upset him greatly, oftentimes he went off to another room and pretended to work on something else, while really he simply glowered about it all.

The same was true for that; he was restringing his violin (something, Christine remembered, he had done just before they left for her tour), his back to the door. She walked over to him and rubbed his back gently.

"Erik, love?" she whispered.

He ignored her. She noticed that he was still wearing his mask, but when she made to take it off, he jerked away and flatly said, "Don't."

She sat by him on the floor and rested her head against the side of his thigh, watching his long hands move. For one of the first times in her life, Christine saw that they shook slightly. The only other times she could recall seeing Erik's hands shaking was when he was slipping her wedding ring on her finger and the first time he held Mia.

More minutes passed in silence between them. He was gently twisting the peg for his G string, occasionally plucking it. He did not need a piano to know the exact pitch. He fiddled with the fine tuner for a few minutes before proceeding to the D string.

"Will you play for me tonight?" she asked, craning her head to look up at him. He glanced at her, and she was relieved to see that he still had affection in his gaze, meaning he wasn't completely out of her reach.

"Of course," he said simply.

She smiled in thanks and then thought for a moment on how best to break the conversation that would have to inevitably come.

"Will and Mia will enjoy it too," she said.

Instantly, he stiffened. "I won't play for _him_," he said shortly.

"That's selfish."

"I am a selfish man. You know this. I make no excuses."

"I know you are—not even letting your own daughter marry someone she loves."

"I said I would allow it!" he snarled angrily.

"But you don't want her to. You have to want it as well."

"I don't want it. She's too young."

"Erik, when I was her age, I was married to you and already had her."

"We're different," he stubbornly insisted.

"Why don't you want her to get married?" Christine said, ignoring the direction Erik wanted the argument to go.

"She needs to continue with her schooling."

"She said she's going to apply in a year or two. She needs a break, and I can hardly blame her. She's worked herself to the bone these past few years."

"Then she should come home until she applies somewhere else."

"She can't stay here forever!" Christine said, finally telling Erik what he had never wanted to hear.

"Why not?" he said, his temper rising even higher. "You _want _her to leave! You want her out!"

"Of course I don't want her 'out,'" Christine said. She wasn't sitting anymore. She was standing. Erik rose from his chair too, his long fingers wrapped around the neck of his violin, as if he was attempting to strangle it. Christine continued: "I wish she could stay here, too, but she can't. She'd be miserable. She needs to move on with her life."

"I want her to continue with her life as well! I want her to go to school and find a career performing."

"She can still do that while she's married. Look at me."

"_You _quit for over ten years so you could raise her. Your career has never been the same. If she married, she would have a child and have to give up her dreams."

"Maybe having a child _is _her dream," Christine said. She was quivering. It had been a long time since she and Erik had had a true _argument_. Sometimes she forgot how scary Erik looked when he was angry. He was shaking with rage, his hands white with pressure, his eyes flashing furiously.

"She would not excel so in school if her dream was to sit around all day and watch a drooling infant."

"I think you've forgotten that watching _your _child has been your favorite thing to do for the past twenty-two years."

"Of course it has," he agreed instantly. "I want to continue watching her, and I want to see her succeed."

"So you think she's some kind of failure if she gets married?"

"Of course not."

"Do you want to force her to do something she doesn't want to do?"

"No!"

"Then what is it?" Christine's voice was shrill now. She could understand a little of Erik's frustration, but she could not understand why he was being so stubborn about it all. When he continued to watch her, his eyes flashing, she pushed. "What is it, Erik? _What?_"

"I don't know!" he roared suddenly. There was a shocked silence, and after a moment he suddenly crumbled to his knees in front of her, burying his face in his hands, his violin to the side. Shuddering gasps wracked his skinny frame. "I don't know," he said again, whispering into his hands.

Quickly, Christine knelt next to him and wrapped her arms around him.

"It's all right," she said softly, rubbing his back again, which was shaking. "Erik, angel, please…"

He clawed at her arm. "I can't let her go," he said desperately. "I have spent decades working for you…for her…to keep you both with me…"

"Even if she marries, Mia will still love you," Christine said. "You won't lose her. I promise. We can't trap her here. She needs to do this. She needs to leave us for a while. She needs to find her own strength without us—without you."

"She doesn't have to," he rasped.

"But she _needs _to. Don't you understand?"

"No." He said it freely, without shame. "Am I not good enough for her? Why does she think she needs to leave me?"

Christine resisted sighing and instead said, as soothingly as she could, "My love, this is not about you. This is not a punishment or a snub. Mia is not doing this to hurt you."

"_You _went with that boy to hurt me. How is this any different?"

She flushed and tightened her grip on him. "That was nothing but a mistake," she said. "Mia is smarter and stronger than I was or am or ever will be, and she knows her own mind. At that time, I did not know mine. I know it now, and I'm here with you. If she has ever hurt you, it has been completely unintentional." Despite everything, she laughed a little. "Like that time she burned your masks? She thought she was doing you a big favor."

"If she thinks that _this _is a favor, then—"

A knock on the door cut him off, and they both looked at it.

She didn't know if he would allow anyone inside, and so she was still, feeling him under her, allowing him to take the lead. A few moments passed, and then he shifted to his feet and stood, pulling her up with him. He cleared his throat quietly and straightened his rumpled clothing and mask, which had been slightly askew.

"Come in." His voice was level and smooth, as if he had never had a care in his life. Christine took his hand, hoping to encourage and support him. He pressed her fingers slightly.

Mia entered, alone, looking at Erik with wide, dark eyes. She approached him slowly and then whispered, "Are you mad? Please don't be mad."

He blinked. "I'm not."

She took in a deep breath and then said steadily, "I won't marry him if you don't want me to."

Christine felt Erik's hand jerk slightly against hers, and she marveled inwardly at Mia's unselfish and caring feelings and thoughts.

"I want you to do what you want," Erik said.

She sighed in response, a little exasperatedly. "Dad, please don't say stuff like that. You say it to avoid answering me, and it drives me crazy."

"What would you like me to say?" he said coolly.

"What you really think," she replied composedly. She then continued, but her voice was stretched and pained, almost frightened as she said: "If you really don't want me to marry William, I won't."

Erik was silent, watching her as she began to tremble. It was obvious that she was doing her best not to give in to sobs, hoping to give the impression that it wouldn't break her heart if Erik disapproved. Christine wanted to rush over and comfort her daughter, but she was still, knowing that she was not part of this scene. Erik slid his hand from her grasp and stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Mia's shaking, skinny frame. It was one of the first times he had physically reached out to touch her since she had grown. She sniffled into his shoulder, arms clutched tightly around his back. He put a light hand on her dark hair, silent, thinking.

"You truly wish to marry him?" Erik finally asked quietly. "Marrying him would make you happy?" He looked down at her as she nodded into his shoulder. When he glanced up at Christine, he saw her standing tearfully, though she was smiling softly, encouragingly. He closed his eyes for a long moment, his expression unreadable behind his mask.

When he opened them, he looked down at Mia and sighed deeply before stepping away.

"As long as he can promise me that you will be provided for, I have no further qualms." His voice was not quiet, but it was not loud. It was straight and even, carrying nothing and implying nothing. Mia wiped away some lingering tears with her fingertips and looked at him, a smile beginning on her lips.

"Really, Daddy?" she whispered. "You mean it?"

"I would not have said it if I didn't," he said stiffly. "Don't inquire any further. This is difficult enough as it is. If you ask me again, I am not so sure my answer will be the same."

Mia laughed weakly for a moment, and then she sniffed one last time before brightening even more. She rushed to him and hugged him again.

"Thank you, Dad," she said. "I love you so much."

Christine couldn't help it; she burst into tears.

Erik looked at her, alarmed. "What's wrong, dearest?"

She shook her head. "Nothing," she gasped. "I'm—just—so happy for you two!"

There was a moment of silence, and Erik rolled his eyes. "I believe I've had quite enough of crying females for one day."

Mia laughed, and even Christine managed a choking giggle. He reached out and drew her to his side, where she put her face in his shoulder and tried to force her tears to subside.

"I have a question, though," Mia said, watching her father with an eyebrow raised.

"And what is it?" he said.

"What did you say to Will?" she asked.

"Nothing _too_ important, I assure you," Erik said dryly. "Save he shall be allowed to marry my only child."

"Dad, he looked scared stiff," Mia said suspiciously.

"I said nothing frightening," he replied lightly. "Whatever he gathered was his own interpretation."

Mia crossed her arms. "Whatever," she said shortly. "I'll just get him to tell me later."

"We shall see," Erik said smugly.

After rolling her eyes, she glanced over her shoulder and said, "Oh! I guess I should go see him. He's probably freaking out." She left the room, but not before shouting, "Come down!"

Erik watched her go, his head tilted slightly, and Christine came up next to him, wrapping her arm around his.

"Thank you," she said softly. "You've made her so happy."

"Yes, well, that is what I live for," he replied, almost absentmindedly. "Even if it makes me absolutely miserable."

She sighed against his arm. "You're still really this upset?"

"No," he quipped. "I just like to brood and have you fuss over me."

"You're hopeless." She laughed and tugged on his arm. "We should go downstairs. I want to congratulate my future son." It was an odd thought, and she smiled a little. She was getting the son she had originally hoped for.

"Son?" he said, bewildered.

"Son-_in-law_, if you wish to be a technical pill. But isn't it exciting, Erik?" She bounced on her toes, unable to restrain the excitement that had been bubbling up beneath the worry. "A wedding! I can't wait for Mia to start planning. She told me she wanted it outside, and I was thinking that if we have it at dusk then we wouldn't have to worry about your mask. And she should have an ivory dress, because white doesn't go very well with her skin—thanks to _you, _of course. She told me about this little cottage a few hours away that has a beautiful garden, and she said—"

"Sweetest," he interrupted her shortly, "I shall consider it a great success if I make it through _today. _Please save your feminine excitement for a later date. I have no energy to pretend to be interested."

"Well, thank you for attempting to spare my feelings," she said, though she was still cheerful.

To her surprise, he raised his mask and pressed his lips to the top of her head, bringing her close.

"You must know that I love you," he murmured. "More than I ever thought possible."

"I do know." She took the opportunity to kiss him before he put his mask back on.

"And it will…take time," he said. "I still have not yet convinced myself of this."

"I know," she said. "Remember when Mia was born? You were so afraid, but you're all right now. You'll be fine, Erik. I promise. Just let yourself see how happy she is."

He pressed his lips to her curls once again before nodding and slipping his mask back on.

She then said, "Let's go downstairs. They're waiting."

He took her hand and led her out of the room and down the stairs. Her thoughts were busy, dwelling on the future and what it would bring. She looked at Erik to smile. He had given her what the family that she had always wanted. The idea that she was part of a family that was doing nothing but growing filled her with excitement, and she knew that she and Erik were sharing what he had always dreamed of: a normal life.

_Fin_


End file.
